Trials and Triumph
by HeroicDean
Summary: AU. Missing Verse. Sam and Dean's lives have never been easy-not with a Yellow-eyed demon intent on making Sam part of his master plan. With the death of their friend Bill Harvelle on their minds, the family is faced with yet another threat, this time from the human kind. With impossible odds mounted against them, it will take their love for one another to overcome the impossible.
1. Chapter 1

Trials and Triumph

Dean Winchester was not a morning person. The sun rose too early, before he was ready to admit that a peaceful night had given way to another stressful day. Not that Dean did not end up _enjoying_ the day once it began, but it was getting there that proved to be the biggest hurdle.

More recently his nights had become plagued with unsettling dreams that nearly always sent him soaring to the waking world before he was ready. That was not conducive to obtaining the rest he needed, but he felt powerless to escape the devastating hold those dreams had over his mind. Not that he was not used to dreams, but it was the frightening clarity of them.

Rolling over onto his stomach, his face pressed comfortingly against his pillow, he tried to forget the evening. The dreams had troubled him for the last several days, always staying the same unless a new detail was added. To say that was annoying and even worrisome? That would have to be the understatement of the _century_.

There was too much about the dreams that confused him. For one, he could not place the source of them. Every dream started with him scrambling through the woods while he desperately tried to avoid the danger that pursued him. The question was _what_ danger? And if it could be believed.

Dean had been through (and had _seen_ ) a lot, but somehow he never dreamed he would start receiving messages during sleep. The one who would most likely be able to help him decode his dreams into something helpful was his guardian.

For the last ten years, Dean had formed a beautiful and unbreakable bond with Caleb Rivers, his guardian and trainer in all things supernatural. It was more than the simple fact they were family that they were close, but because Caleb was always someone who Dean _knew_ he could rely on.

Caleb's quiet strength and kind nature were two things Dean found he respected the most about him. It had been that way ever since Caleb and Jim began raising him and Sam after the death of their father. Dean barely remembered that tumultuous time. If there was anyone who he should feel comfortable confiding in, it would have to be them.

The problem was getting his mind to align with what his body wanted. The dreams had tuckered him out, leaving him with the insatiable desire to stay in bed rather than face the day. Dean could hear commotion outside, signaling that the rest of his family was up. Soon enough he would either be jumped by Sam, or woken by Caleb or Jim.

The door opening and light pouring into the room was indicative of it either being something evil, which he doubted, or one of his family. Drawing the covers tighter around him, he peeked one eye in the general direction of the intruder, and saw Caleb.

No doubt he was wondering what was taking the teen so long to get up, and why he was still in bed. Even without knowing how Caleb would react to his mystifying dreams, he knew to expect one of their heart-to-heart talks Dean only felt comfortable engaging in with his brother and Caleb.

The problem was that he did not know how to form the words needed to explain the dreams, or how they made him feel. Turning over on his side away from Caleb, he knew that would not work for too long.

"Morning, kiddo," Caleb announced, sounding infuriatingly chipper for an early morning.

"No," Dean moaned, swatting his hand away when he pulled his covers back. "You're terrible. Go away!"

"What's wrong, bud?" Caleb asked, his teasing momentarily forgotten while he sat on the edge of the bed.

That was the one question Dean had been both dreading and anticipating with equal measure. It was not that he did not end up enjoying their conversations, but it was getting to that point that proved to be the issue.

Twisting his blanket around his thumb while he contemplated telling Caleb about his dreams, he listened to the noises outside again. In place of Sam's spirited laughter, he could place the shrill screech of the birds outside.

"I don't-I don't really want to talk about it."

"Dean, come on," Caleb urged gently. "Don't shut yourself off from me."

"I've just...I've just had these insane dreams lately. They don't make too much sense, and its always the _same_ one."

Instead of the quiet talk he expected his guardian to launch into, he was greeted by an unheard of silence. From the pensive look on Caleb's face, he knew he was slowly considering everything Dean told him. Taking his silence as meaning something good, he got out of bed and began the process of dressing himself.

Picking one of his prized _Metallica_ t-shirts, he slipped it on while he tried not to dwell on the mystery surrounding his dreams. He was not one to suffer from something unexplainable like that. It only exacerbated his growing bewilderment.

"You said the dream is always the same," Caleb said slowly. "What kind of dream do you have?"

Dean shrugged, doing his best to make light of an issue that showed no sign of stopping. Talking about it _did_ feel good when he was doing it with someone who understood.

"There's me and Sam...and we're _running_ from something. I don't know what it is we're trying to escape, but it's bad."

"Jim, Bobby, me, we're not with you?" Caleb voiced, his hand tightening on Dean's shoulder.

"Not so far."

Out of all the twisted aspects of the dream, that had to be the craziest part. In no way shape or form would he be running without the rest of his family. He had Sam with him, but what caused them to separate from their family?

"How often do you have these dreams?"

"Pretty much every night. For the last few days, it's been nothing but the same thing."

"I think," Caleb said, handing Dean his knife he forgot on the nightstand. "That we need to keep watch over these instances, see when they come again."

Adopting that approach made the most sense to him when there was really nothing they _could_ do other than wait them out. Not sure what he would do if the dreams kept happening, he turned to face his guardian. When he did, he saw nothing but kindness and concern in his eyes for him.

"Do you think we're okay?" Dean pressed, his hazel eyes begging Caleb to be honest. "After everything, do you think this means something?"

Caleb considered that question for a minute while he busied himself with picking up some of Dean's dirty laundry. Although Dean _tried_ to keep his room up, there were times when the guys had to crack down on him for not following through.

"I think we're okay for right now. The YED hasn't made any new mind trips to Sam. We have cases lined up, and we might be getting closer to knowing who got Bill."

The last few months of their lives had seen the appearance of an old enemy, and the death of one of their closest friends. Bill Harvelle was murdered by something while alone in his roadhouse. The resulting investigation into his death had yielded few answers, but he was hopeful they finally had a lead.

Dean wished he could have Caleb's optimism to get him through some of the stickier parts of his life. It would be easier than living his life always in fear of what laid around the corner. Stopping his rapid train of thought to look at Caleb, he saw no contradiction in his eyes.

"What's Sam doing?" Dean asked, doing everything he could to forget about the dreams.

Caleb smiled. "He's out in the kitchen. Your brother is in _rare_ form this morning."

"You mean he's not crabby?" Dean demanded, his mouth falling open. "Color me shocked."

Out of everyone in the house, Sam was nearly always the one who started his day in a sour mood. Try as his guardians did to sort out his mood, no one could quite understand where it came from. Understanding that he had to start his day was much easier to bear now that he had his talk with Caleb.

His guardian gave him the option of staying in bed longer to reclaim some of his precious _zzz's_ , but he did not want to miss out on breakfast, and the chance to hear more about the potential cases the adults had sorted through.

With that thought in mind, he finished getting ready with a notable spring to his step. Caleb was watching him with an amused expression on his face. Giving him a playful shove, he raced him out the door and down the hall. Although the dreams had troubled him lately, all he wanted to do was forget that pain and focus on his family.

Striding out into the kitchen where Sam was already seated at the island counter with a plate of Caleb's famous pancakes in front of him, Dean playfully punched him before taking his seat beside him. Sam stuck his tongue out at his brother, clearly not as amused as his big brother was that he was irritating him. Sliding into a seat beside him, it was not hard to notice that someone was missing from their group. Glancing at Caleb as he hovered over the skillet, he could smell more of the pancakes he loved.

"You want some of my _award_ winning pancakes, dude?" Caleb asked, already guessing the answer as he moved toward Dean.

"Do you really have to ask that?" Dean deadpanned.

"Guess not."

"Where's Jim?" Dean asked, already stuffing his mouth full of the delicious food.

It had only just dawned on him that his other guardian was nowhere to be found. For the last several days, they had taken refuge in a safe house that Bobby had brought to their attention after an increase in supernatural activity.

The safe house, located in a rural part of South Dakota, was safeguarded against every possible type of supernatural evil. The pipes had been stocked with holy water, and the fixtures made mostly of iron. Beyond that, Devil's Traps had been installed in every room of the house, and salt bags were plentiful.

"He went to get some coffee," Caleb said, giving Dean a look that showed his displeasure at running out of his fix. "We ran out yesterday."

Dean rolled his eyes, trading looks with Sam. "That's a _tragedy._ "

Out of everyone in their family who loved caffeine, Caleb was the one who lived for the intoxicating caffeinated drink. And Dean, when the guys saw fit to let him have some once in awhile.

"You bet it is," Caleb said mock-seriously. "Coffee solves everything."

Dean laughed, he could not help it when something was funny again. It had been awhile since he felt the pressing urge to laugh at something. Not since before Bill died, and he was forced to endure a hunter's funeral for him that had been equal parts emotional as it was strangely funny in keeping with the kind of person Bill was, and what he would have wanted.

"You're something else."

"You know it."

Returning his plate to the kitchen sink once he was through, Dean could not help but gaze out into the impressive front yard of the safe house. Although he was allowed to play outside with Sam when the guys thought it would be safe, those times had become less and less frequent with the addition of new mind attacks by the Yellow-Eyed demon. The entertainment that was provided within the house, had lost its appeal after some time.

Balancing his arm on the edge of the kitchen sink, it was not long before Dean could see Caleb come up beside him. The young hunter had an uncanny ability to understand the different type of moods the boys gave out. With Dean, it was harder because there was so much the teen kept hidden within himself that his brother did not.

"Hey, you doing okay?" Caleb asked.

"I guess so."

"But?" Caleb prompted, sensing the underlying 'but' in Dean's sentence.

"I'm just...I'm getting kind of antsy sitting around here so much."

Turning to look at Sam, he could tell his brother agreed with everything he said from the way he nodded his head. Try as they might to suppress most of their feelings about the enforced confinement, it was getting harder to pretend like everything was fine when everything was not fine. Most days, it was easy to accept the enforced confinement, but on other days, it hit him.

Caleb nodded softly as he took one of the dishes in the sink and started washing it. One of the many things Dean loved about Caleb was his ability to sympathize with the plight of what the boys were going through, while still imposing rules that saved their lives. Beyond that, Caleb was his rock and his confidante, and he was counting on him to be both of those things that morning.

Jumping a little when Sam unexpectedly jumped down from his seat at the island to join them, he could see the same impatience (and even desperation) to do something besides watching the rest of the world pass them by. The security measures were all necessary and something that had to be done, but was still challenging to live with.

"I think we can blow this place for a little bit," Caleb finally announced after a moment of silent contemplation. "Go through a drive-thru or something like that."

"Awesome!" Sam cheered, exchanging fist-bumps with Dean.

"When can we go?" Dean asked, hardly believing Caleb was agreeing to take them out.

"As soon as Jim gets back with our lifesaver," Caleb said. "Dean, finish those dishes before we go."

Dean was happy to comply with whatever Caleb wanted if it meant he would get the chance to abandon the safe house for a bit. The house was fascinating with its rich history, and its ability to shield them from their supernatural enemies, but he could not wait until he could do something besides staring at the walls. Dunking his hands into the sink, he imagined tackling a new case that would challenge his mind.

It had been awhile since his family started a new job-not since before the demon started making its presence known-and not since before Bill died. His death had served as the catalyst for them upping their security regimen, and becoming painfully aware of what lurked unseen in the shadows. Solving the tragedy of his death was just one of the things Dean wanted to accomplish.

Grinning when Sam appeared at his side, he purposefully splashed water in his face. That act caused an immediate backlash in the form of Sam creating a bigger splash right into Dean's face. Dodging out of the way when Sam came back for round 2, he flung more water at him from the washcloth while Caleb stood by and pretended that he did not see what was happening.

"Ha! I win," Sam teased, once Dean had thrown his washcloth down in defeat.

"In your _dreams_ ," Dean said, pinching him. "I _let_ you win. Big difference."

"Nope," Sam disputed. "I saw you throw your washcloth down. That means _I_ win."

Dean rolled his eyes comically. "Whatever gets you through the night, Sammy."

Turning away from the sloppy sink once he was finished, Dean could not help but sneak a peek at the headlines on the newspapers. Finding a case was a delicate art that was nearly as difficult as the more demanding physical training. Leaning against the counter as he stared down at the large print headline, the wheels in his mind was already turning as he thought about it being a potential case.

The problem was the vague supply of information that was being presented. A few children were murdered in their beds with their parent's hearts ripped out. A gruesome crime that could be attributed to any number of supernatural baddies. Narrowing his eyes as he stared at the finer points of the case, he saw his brother come to stand beside him. Sam had not had the same training as Dean after only being "in the life" for a few short months.

However, the boy was already proving to be a natural at analyzing crime scene reports and acing the quizzes Caleb and Jim posed to him. Moving the paper over so Sam could have a better look at it it was not hard to catch the look of disgust in his brother's face as he read the horrific details. Any crime that involved children was a crime that their family could not help but take seriously.

"Who would rip a _heart_ out?" Sam asked quietly.

"That's the question that needs to be found out," Dean said, his voice tight as he noticed the black and white photographs of the victims.

"What else can you tell about this paper?" Caleb asked, posing the question to Sam.

"The killings were really, _really_ bad?" Sam offered, knowing in his heart that it was not the right answer.

Caleb grinned, ruffling Sam's hair. "That's a given, unfortunately. I mean, do any of the details pop out?"

Having had more training than his brother in those areas, Dean was already connecting the dots together to form a plausible explanation. He was curious to know if Sam would be able to figure the same thing out. Taking a sip from his water, he studied his brother as the wheels turned in his head.

"It looks like...it looks like...a _werewolf_."

"But how do you know that?" Caleb challenged, wanting to make sure Sam was on the ball.

"Because their hearts are missing."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, enjoying questioning his brother when he knew he was on the mark about something. "But is the Lunar Cycle _consistent_?"

In answer to the question that was being presented to him, Dean was impressed when his brother took the time to sort through the bountiful research available to him. It was the same sort of lesson Dean himself learned when he was in the beginning stages of recognizing different cases. Curious to know if Sam was getting the answer right, he peeked over his shoulder and saw that he was paused on the stages of the Lunar Cycle.

"I-I think it is."

"You have to be _sure_ ," Caleb corrected. "You can't be halfway or even a little sure. You have to be _one hundred percent_."

Armed with that helpful information, Sam's head once again disappeared beneath the books he was perusing. While he did that, Dean could not help but glance at the clock. He could not wait until Jim got back with their coffee, and then they could escape for just a little while. He could already feel his muscles clench with anticipation.

"It's right," Sam finally decided.

"Good job," Caleb praised. "This _does_ look like a probable werewolf problem. Do you know another name for the werewolf?"

Unlike before, Sam got the answer right away. It was no surprise when Dean routinely caught him up late at night when everyone else was asleep. Sam's mind was a treasure trove of information, and that was never clearer than when he was being put to the task about something.

"A lycanthrope."

One of the monsters that Dean had yet to be allowed around was a werewolf-he was permitted to assist his family while they were researching the case-but was not given permission to go anywhere near the actual hunt. Although frustrating, he tried being patient in the hopes that it would win him points and show his family how mature he could handle disappointment.

Before they could delve any further into the lore surrounding the werewolf or the actual case, they were distracted from their conversation by the front door opening.

Grateful to see Jim walk through the front door with the coffee in his hand, Dean knew that he would only be one step closer to escaping the house and getting some fresh air. Even through the trials of life that had robbed them of the perfect peace that once enveloped them, the pastor had never let too much get him down. Call it natural strength, or maybe the faith that he relied on so heavily, but he had managed to cling to something.

Sam immediately jumped down from his seat when he saw his guardian. Although all of their family was affectionate with each other, there was something about the pastor that soothed both of their hearts when he was around them and was able to give them advice. The death of their friend several months previously, had rocked Dean to his core and he knew his brother felt the same way.

"Morning, boys," Jim said, pausing in order to lean down to kiss the top of Sam's head. "Sleep late, I see."

"Yeah, well, nightmares call," Dean remarked dryly, cupping his chin under his hand. "Out getting coffee?"

"Yes," Jim replied, rolling his eyes. "This one," he added, looking at Caleb. "Wouldn't get off my tail 'till I left."

Sam giggled, enjoying the banter that routinely existed between his family. Those kinds of interactions had been in short supply recently, and the idea of having it come back again was a breath of fresh air. Especially for a child who had gone through more loss in his life than most people twice his age.

"I had to find some way to get your ass out the door," Caleb shot back. "It just so happens that the reason served a purpose."

"For _you_ ," Jim corrected. "Do not forget that distinction."

"Sure," Caleb grinned. "Dean, you want some of this?"

"Abso-lutely."

Normally the guys tried to limit how much caffeine consumption they allowed Dean to take in. They already were lenient with how much soda they let him run wild with, and thought they better do something to cut him off. But Caleb also did not mind it if the boys had the _occasional_ treat.

"I'm cutting you off on the sugar," Caleb warned. "Sugar monster that you are."

"I can't deny that," Dean smiled.

"Sam, you want a little?" Caleb asked, shaking the coffee cream bottle.

"Yes!" Sam shouted eagerly.

It was extremely rare the guys let Sam have _any_ coffee. The ten, almost eleven-year-old, was already hyper enough on his own without the added assistance of caffeine. Carefully handing Sam the small cup once Caleb passed it to him, Dean shook his head when he watched Sam inhale almost the entire cup.

Once their coffee had been served, Caleb allowed himself the chance to relax a little and really breathe for the first time. Going into Dean's room and hearing him describe the troubling dreams he had been suffering from, was more than a little concerning. Especially with the struggles they had been going through.

"Dean," Caleb said, looking over at him as he tried to slowly drink his drink to savor the taste. "You should tell Jim about those dreams of yours."

"What dreams?" Jim asked.

Jim instantly took notice of Caleb's strange announcement. With having someone else in the loop of people who might be able to help, Caleb would not be alone in trying his hardest to decode what those dreams could possibly mean. Jim was one of the few people beside Bobby who had the most experience with the supernatural.

"It's nothing-" Dean began, not wanting to draw more attention to it than they already had. At that point, he did not feel like it was anything serious to worry about. Just an annoyance, than an actual threat.

As Dean predicted, Caleb was not content to let his answer drop. One of the perks (and pits) of their bond, was how well they both knew each other. It served them well when they were trying to solve a crisis, or when they needed to have those heart-to-heart chats that always solved the majority of Dean's anxiety.

" _Dean,_ " Caleb warned. "Talk to the man. He might have some better insight into this than I do."

The teen sighed, knowing better than to mess with Caleb when he adopted that warning edge to his tone. It was not that he did not trust Jim with sensitive information, it was that he wanted nothing more than to forge it. Clearly the adults had another idea.

"I keep having these dreams," Dean said. "They don't change. They're always the same.

* * *

After their tense discussion over the state of Dean's dreams, the teen was thrilled when Caleb fulfilled his promise to take them out to escape the prison the house had become. Even though the dreams had disturbed Jim when he heard about it, the teen was relieved when the pastor proposed that they do nothing but wait them out. There was nothing they could do, and the only thing that seemed like the most logical plan was to track them as much as they could.

Dean was glad that approach was being taken instead of attempting something more drastic. He wanted the dreams to go away, but he was not sure he wanted them to be made as much of a big deal as they were. Stepping out into the freezing cold of an early January morning, he and Sam wasted no time in hurrying to their car before they got frostbit. Exhilerated that he was being given the chance to do something "normal" again, he found that his mood was lighter than it had been in a long time.

Ever since the YED made repeated attempts on Sam's life, even the safe house had become unsafe for them. No longer were the boys allowed to play outside like most children, and even had to be accompanied by one of the adults if they ventured out. Such a precaution was painfully necessary, but also a burden for everyone involved. For that reason, Dean was overjoyed that their precautions could be forgotten for just a short while.

Driving through town and gazing at the different shops and businesses that dotted the roads, Dean could not believe he was doing this. It seemed like forever since he was allowed to do something like this without fear of something happening. Pointing out a strangely-shaped bird to his brother, he was rewarded by his shrill laughter as he imitated the bird's sound.

Like Caleb warned them would happen, they only stayed out a few minutes. Long enough for the boys to get a taste of freedom, and for them to go through the drive-thru at McDonalds. Their cheeks red from the cold and their hearts bursting with renewed euphoria over their morning, they started back toward the house.

"Are you guys having fun?" Caleb asked.

"Yes," Dean replied without hesitation. "This is really great."

"Good. I'm glad. What about you, Sam?"

Much like his brother, Sam's reply was predictable and full of joy over what happened that morning. If Dean was starting to have problems with being confined in one space for too long, he could only imagine how his brother felt who was used to having acres of land to roam.

"It's awesome!"

"Good," Caleb said, twisting around in his seat to fist-bump him.

Even though Dean knew the fun times could not last given the precarious circumstances they were living in, he was still sad to see their car pull into the secluded street that belonged to the safe house. The house had safeguarded them against so much, and yet Dean was torn about how he should feel about it. Reluctantly opening the car door and getting out, he did not pull away from Caleb when he wrapped a comforting arm around him, pulling him close.

Caleb would be able to suss his moods without much of a problem-realizing that without missing a beat-he nodded slowly to let him know he was okay. The question was clear on Caleb's lips as he walked in through the garage, and walked up the steps that led to their kitchen. Hoping that he would leave it alone for awhile, he focused his attention on Sam who was still stuffing his face with his treat.

"Thanks for taking us out," Sam said.

"You're welcome, Sammy."

"Yeah, it was a lot of fun," Dean filled-in, as they walked into the spacious kitchen where Jim was already seated.

"That was sort of the whole point," Caleb cracked.

Jim was studying them as they piled into the kitchen, but it was the look on his face that Dean found himself focusing on the most as he helped himself to some soda. It was rare that Jim would give them the kind of look he was now unless something was wrong. Taking that thought to heart, he took his time before taking a seat across from him.

"Did you boys have fun?"

"Yeah," Dean shrugged. "Battled through the slush to reach heaven."

"What kind of heaven would that be?" Jim inquired, the corners of his mouth pulling into a smile.

"The kind where delicious food plenty."

"Ah, I see. Caleb," Jim said, looking over at his friend. "You have a call."

"Oh, yeah?" Caleb said lightly, running a comb through Sam's hair when the child refused to do it himself. "From who?"

"Family services."

* * *

Enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It was difficult not to feel a small amount of panic seep through Dean's system when he processed Jim's startling words. For the last several years, Dean and his family had been fortunate not to face serious questions by Family Services for the less than normal way they lived. That was something that Dean counted themselves as lucky they never had to battle. Until now. When everything was already challenging _enough_ for them.

Controlling his reaction so his brother would not notice his sudden mood change, he made a quick grab for his soda and inhaled a gulp to distract himself from doing (or saying) something that would only make things worse. A complete silence had fallen over the entire room when Jim announced who was on the line. Not even Caleb was saying something, and that was extremely rare for him. Taking that in, he forced a smile on his face when Sam slipped into the seat beside him.

"What the hell?" Dean whispered, when Caleb came to stand beside him. He felt a shudder pass through his entire body as he abandoned his place to follow Caleb's rapid-fire progression around the table where Jim had the number for him to call the people back.

It was not often they had to deal with CPS—usually it was their even more powerful police counterparts who they had the displeasure of working with—having Family Services suddenly be so interested in them, was the last thing they needed to have dumped on their laps. Especially with how precarious it was with Yellow-Eyes, and finding Bill's killer.

Dean had no clue what they would do if they faced an investigation or inquiry into their family by people who could not understand what they did not know. What might look like criminal behavior to outsiders, was what his family did to survive the impossible. How many times had hunters been caught in compromising positions because of their dedication to the hunt? Too many times in the last thousand years. The same was true for Dean and his family when the law eventually caught up to them.

Facing the unknown almost had Dean _wishing_ they had the werewolf case to focus on other than this. The hunt was what he was itching for because it would center his mind away from CPS, and onto something productive. Feeling a hand sweep acros his arm, he looked to see Sam was paying special attention to his brother and was trying his hardest to induce comfort in him. Thankful for that act, he tried to quell the anxiousness inside of him.

"I don't know," Caleb finally said, after several minutes of complete silence. His voice was abnormally tight as he squeezed the bridge between his nose and eyes with two fingers. "It's probably nothing, something stupid. But I have to call them to be sure."

The last thing either of them felt like doing was calling CPS and hearing whatever untrue allegations they had against them. However, they all knew that ignoring the call (as tempting as that was), would only be worse for them later, would only raise suspicion into what their family was doing and how the boys were being raised. Dean knew without anyone having to tell him, that another criminal case against Caleb would be catastrophic to him when he was already in their system for past offenses.

Sam was paying attention to everything they were saying with eyes wide as saucers—he was barely old enough to remember their last foray into the world of criminal justice. All of this had to be incredibly confusing for someone who was mostly ignorant of what that world did to them. It was that ignorance Dean wished he could be fortunate enough to have.

"What's going on?" Sam asked, finally speaking up when he could no longer stay silent when his family had the kind of look on their faces he seldom saw.

"It's probably nothing, Sammy," Jim reassured him. "There are people who have some questions for us...for Caleb."

That answer alone did not suffice for someone as smart as Sam. It had always been that way with his brother. Sam had learned to walk ahead of his time, and had learned to read before most children his age. Therefore, it did not surprise Dean that he was picking up on what was happening without a problem. Only this time, Dean was not sure he wanted Sam to be exposed to something this dark.

"What kind of questions?"

"Questions...questions about how you two are being raised," Jim replied, his eyes shifting to Dean.

"But we're being raised fine!" Sam argued, his fiery temper starting to make its appearance. "It's the demon that's messing everything up!"

"I _know_ ," Dean said, taking over for Jim. "But right now? Family Services doesn't know anything about the demon, and they never will either. For whatever reason, they have questions for us and we need to do _our_ best to make sure it goes away."

Not that Dean had any idea how they would make something like this "go away" when the department would never make such a call without proof to back up what they were getting at. His mind was already presenting the worst case scenarios. Try as he might to avoid them, it was nearly impossible. Their family had been put through the wringer in the last several months, and all Dean wanted was to find a permanent way to rid themselves of the YED, and locate Bill's murderer.

As much as he wanted to focus on those things, CPS was now making that hard. Sam still appeared confused about why they were doing something so insane, but he bit back his comments and ate a piece of frozen fruit Jim put in front of him. Shaking his head when Sam offered him a piece, he ducked out of the way when Sam teasingly tried to force him to eat it. Leave it to Sam to be their light when everything around them was dark.

"The fruit is _healthy_ for you," Sam pointed out. "It has _tons_ of anti-oxidants. Like, poly-phenolic flavonoids, and Vitamin-C. All of that is good for you, Dean."

Dean gaped at his brother with his mouth hanging open. "Could you maybe translate that into English?"

Sam nodded seriously. "Fruit has-"

His sentence was disrupted when Dean heard Caleb speak quietly with someone who he assumed was a person at the front desk. Scooting closer to him, he hoped his guardian would not bother to buy any of what CPS was trying to sell them. All of them knew the utter truth, and it was far from what CPS was portraying.

"Just don't believe any of their crap, Caleb," Dean said, shakily crossing his arms over his chest.

After all, those people did not _know_ his family. They had no idea how much love and support surrounded Dean and his brother. They certainly did not know how much Caleb, Jim, and Bobby loved them. CPS had no clue that they had been raised to defend themselves not out of choice, but out of necessity against the various evils in the world.

They had no idea what they were talking about, and that was what infuriated Dean more than anything as he alternated between chomping on his bottom lip, and scratching his arm to keep his nerves at bay, and keep himself from spouting something he would regret later. Caleb was watching him, and shook his head when he heard Dean's comment to him.

"I won't. Believe me. These people think they know everything, but they don't know the _half_ of it."

"That's for damn sure," Dean muttered angrily.

"Watch your tongue," Jim warned, throwing him a sharp glance.

"Sorry."

Jim nodded, smiling softly to show it was okay. As a pastor, he had gotten used to the activities and language of those around him. Even though he did not necessarily approve of everything his family did, he still drew the line when it concerned some of the words Dean already knew in his impressive vocabulary.

"Hi," Caleb said, when he finally got through to a real person on the other end. "This is Caleb Rivers, I was told someone from your office was trying to reach me."

 _Hi, Mr. Rivers. This is Miranda Baker. I'm the representative who made the call._

"What can I do for you?" he asked, turning his torso around to glance over at Dean. Sam was closely following every word that was being uttered by his guardian.

 _We received a complaint from Mr. Don Woodward at Charity Christian School that the children currently attend._

Dean could not hear everything that was being said by the woman, but he heard snippets of her explanation. When she mentioned their principal at their school and how _he_ had been the instigator of this, he felt betrayed and infuriated all in one fell swoop. He would have laughed if the allegations had not been as serious as they were.

From the look on Caleb's face as he shook his head incredulously, he too was feeling the same thing he was. If there was one thing he and Caleb also had in common, it was their attitude toward anyone who interfered in their family business.

"What _complaint_?" Caleb demanded.

 _It would be preferable_ , the lady replied slowly. _If we could meet in person._

"That's not possible right now," Caleb snapped. "I'm out of town. Whatever you have to say to me, you can say it right now or wait until I can get back."

Dean hoped that would be enough for the lady to back off. In reality, he knew his luck would not allow for something like that when the law had always been a concern for them. Accepting the food Sam held out for him again, he chewed slowly as he tried not to think about where the call might lead.

 _When can you arrange to be back in town?_

Clearly this woman was one of the stubborn ones—not willing to let the issue drop that easily—and it made Dean nervous. They had been lucky to avoid inquiry by CPS before this, and now he knew their luck had expired. The question for Dean was how they would safely return to Minnesota and somehow survive without the crucial protection that was in place in the safe house.

"Tomorrow," Caleb finally said.

Having the extra time would grant them the chance to send someone ahead of them to scout the area and make sure it was clear of demons. What Dean hoped was that Bobby, or someone else, would be able to install some of the wards in their own house. It would make all of them feel better, especially Caleb and Jim.

 _One o' clock?_

"Fine."

Caleb was silent when he hung the phone up, and leaned against the counter. It was easy to understand what he was feeling when Dean was feeling much of the same panic that his guardian was. It wasn't enough that they were dealing with a devastating death, and were facing mounting threats by the demon.

Oh no.

Now CPS had to "talk" to Caleb about a "complaint" they received from a school that was supposed to be one of the best in Minnesota. Around the fear that Dean found hard to shake, he also could not fathom how their principal had been the one to do this to them. The man who Caleb used to be friends with after finding similar interests. The complaint was most likely a way to scare Caleb and Jim into getting the boys back in school, but neither of them were willing to base their decisions off that assumption alone.

Too much was at stake. Their family, mainly. The idea of CPS launching an investigation into their lives and how they were raised, could not have come at a worst time. Dean was dreading having to answer to them, and defend his family from the prying eyes of authorities who could not know what they were talking about.

"What did they say?" Sam asked, leaning forward on the counter.

"They wouldn't tell me right off the bat," Caleb answered. "They want to meet with me back home."

"They didn't say anything about me?" Jim voiced, his eyebrows forming together in confusion.

"No."

Clearly the accusations had to do with Caleb alone. Dean was not sure whether to feel relieved that not all of his family was being put under a microscope, or afraid for his guardian. Caleb was normally a calm person under the best circumstances. To see him stressed like he was was not anything he was used to.

"So we're going back?" Dean asked, glancing nervously at Sam.

"I guess we don't have a choice."

Even though Caleb would have preferred staying in the safety of South Dakota until the demon was taken care, he had nothing to fall back on this time. It was a truth he recognized much to his irritation and anger.

Dean nodded, accepting the truth for what it was. It would not be the best idea to return to where they were less safe in light of what had cropped up in their lives, but he was willing to try if it meant they would have a chance at making CPS go away.

"When do we leave?" Sam asked, laying his head on Caleb's shoulder when the hunter sat down next to him.

"I have to meet with this lady at one tomorrow. Probably tonight sometime. Jim," he added, turning to his friend and co-guardian of the boys. "Is it possible for you to go ahead of us, and put some of the wards Bobby has on this place on _our_ house?"

"I can do that," Jim confirmed. "I can probably get some iron parts, and add them to wherever I can."

"You can?"

"Sure," Jim said. "I can also try my skills at painting, and draw the same sigils on our house."

Dean could see Caleb visibly deflate as though a balloon had been released. Now that they knew they were going to be covered at their house, it made the idea of leaving the safe house, that much more tempting.

"What about the wards?"

"The same thing."

"You can do all this?"

"Absolutely."

Caleb nodded. "I appreciate it."

Dean hated the idea of separating from his family when they were enduring another firestorm in their lives, but he was comforted at the idea of being reunited with him once they returned to Minnesota. The thought of being back in his own room and among his things, was another lucky strike that he did not count on before.

* * *

Caleb hated the idea of walking into CPS and having to subject himself to whatever nonsense they were about to bombard him with. It was bad enough when he had to worry about the boys and their safety, but now that he was being made to do something like this, it was even worse. Just when he thought he could relax and wait out a time until they could get rid of the demon, CPS was forcing his hand.

Checking in at the front desk, and then sitting as far from the rest of the people there as possible, he leafed through an outdated magazine while his knee jiggled nervously. The boys had not been as thrilled as he thought they would be to return home. Especially Dean. The teen had been through enough lately without having to think about what might be going on with his guardian. Thankfully Jim had gone ahead of them, and installed the crucial wards for them to be safe.

If only CPS knew the half of it.

If only they knew how much he adored those boys.

If only they had any inkling as to what a wonderful family they were together.

If only they were not being pursued by people who held the frightening power of making life even more difficult for them. Mindful of the time on the clock across from him, he knew the boys would be having lunch and Jim would insist on making them something healthy. Smiling to himself when he recalled many a conversation where Dean steadfastly refused to eat what he called "rabbit food", he looked up when the door opened.

"Caleb Rivers?"

The woman was dressed in black and red, and had an approachable appearance about her. Not trusting it for a second, he stood up and shook her hand. Her smile was warm, but he was not comfortable with it yet. Understanding she had a job to investigate allegations like this, he tried to correct his attitude as he followed her down the hall. Her office was located near the end, and had family pictures on every available surface.

"To be honest," Caleb said, once she closed the door. "I'm not too happy about being here."

"I can understand that. I'm Miranda Baker, I made the call to you."

"Okay."

If she expected him to show any euphoria at finally meeting her in person, she would be sadly mistaken. Taking another look around her office, he tried not to think about this place as being an interrogation room. The small room made it feel like that to him, and it only furthered his desire to get out of there.

"So," Miranda said, clasping her hands in front of her. "We received a complaint-"

"From their school, right?"

"Correct," she confirmed. "They seemed to be concerned about a number of issues-"

"Like _what_?"

It was obvious to him that she was taken aback by the sheer amount of venom in his tone. Understanding that he was not helping his cause at all, he gave her an apologetic look. There was so much happening in their lives, and someone trying to interfere in it was not anything he approved of. Once the woman seemed to get over his response, she consulted notes she had prepared.

"There's been some concern about the boys' number of absences. That's only half of the complaint we processed."

"What the hell do absences-"

"It could mean a lot," she replied, taking on a questionable tone of her own. "Dean, in the past four months, has had over twenty absences. They were excused away verbally by you, who claimed he was sick. The problem is that the school never received a note from a doctor."

If that was all the woman had on him, he was already feeling a weight lifted off his shoulders. School issues were one thing. It was something more serious that had plagued his mind until he spoke with her. Around the obvious relief he could feel, he also felt angry that these people were doing this without knowing the true cause of what was happening.

"Are you aware," Caleb said, matching her tone to a T. "That Sam was kidnapped? And that our friend was recently murdered?"

The woman's thick brunette head disappeared underneath her notes. "There is a police report on Sam Winchester's kidnapping, yes. We are talking about _recent_ absences."

"What the hell ever," Caleb said furiously. "What the hell business is it of yours, or even the school, to raise a fit about this when-"

"When combined with other factors, it raises a red flag," she interjected.

"What other 'factors?''

This was not good. If he thought he could get away with proving his point to her, he was now being proven wrong. Giving him what could only be described as a smug smile, she slid a manila folder across to him. Hesitating before he opened it, he shook his head in disbelief when he noted the timeline of absences that had been marked down.

"That is a general timeline of Dean's absences," she explained.

"I believe I already told you why. We've been dealing with trauma over Sam being taken. Beyond that, a dear friend of our family was killed," Caleb explained, his voice shaking with rage.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, but this is what the school observed, and why they called us. Not the main reason," she added, "but one of the red flags that was brought up."

"So what's the "main reason" he voiced bitingly.

Handing her back the folder when she motioned for it, he felt sick when he watched her hand it back to him. Without having to see what it was in full, he could already see part of it. Staring down at the photographs when he was sure he was ready, he saw Dean's arm. It had sustained trauma in a past hunt, and looked worse than it really was.

"These were taken on the last day he was seen in school, which was over a month ago. As you can see, Dean has several bruises on his arm, and what looks like a cut or two on his elbow."

Staring at the photograph in question, he tried not to think about the vengeful spirit who caused them. He would be thrown into a mental institution if he even dreamed about telling her what really caused them. As tempting as it was, it would score him no points with her.

Playing dumb was his only option.

"I don't know how he got them. They didn't come from me."

"Regardless," she replied, her eyes boring into his. "These are bruises that are severe enough that they should have been seen by a doctor. They're swollen, purple and blue, and they appear to indicate that Dean was either grabbed or hit by someone."

Caleb shook his head incredulously. Ever since he first got the gist of where she was going with her investigation, he suspected she would accuse him of abuse. As sickening and untrue as it was, he knew where her thoughts were leading her and it was not a pretty place.

"How could you possibly tell _just_ from looking at those pictures?"

"We have our ways."

Shaking his head in fury, he tried to control himself before he completely lost it. "Are you trying to tell me that you're going to use those picture to launch an investigation when-"

"We already _have_ started an investigation. Next we need to speak with the children. Privately."

This was bad.

Caleb could feel his heart race in his chest when he thought about the devastating implications this would present to them. Miranda had no idea what she was talking abut, and she had succeeded in bringing another nightmare into their lives. It was the last thing either of them needed, and she was causing it.

"Fine," he snapped, standing up. "I have nothing to hide—neither do the boys."

"We'll see."

Walking out of her office and out the door into cooler air, felt like he was being liberated from the prison he had been stuck in. Although he tried to deny that he was about to face something bad, there was no way around that fact any longer. This woman had started a process against him, and he could only hope they could make it go away.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The waiting game was what proved to be the toughest part of waiting for Caleb to return home after his appointment with CPS—it made no sense to Dean why they would target his family when they were already coping with enough after Bill's murder and problems with the YED. Why now? That was the question he wished he could answer as he alternated between reclining at the kitchen table, and taking drinks from his soda.

An investigation into their family was what they had been lucky to avoid until now, but it was clear their luck had expired. How could they do this after they were already dealing with enough? How could their principal, a man who Dean trusted, be the culprit behind the call? Any warm feelings he had toward their school and the leadership behind it, was now gone.

In his right mind, as he abandoned his chair for the second time and headed down to their basement, he knew he could not place blame on the people handling the investigation. They were reacting to the troubling report submitted by someone who Dean _did_ blame for not coming to his guardian first, when the two were supposed to be friends.

That was the most infuriating part of the situation they were now in. Their private school had been chosen by his family after they knew how sacred it was from being built on holy ground. For the last several years, they had thrived in the sanctuary the school provided and even thrived with their friends and girlfriends. Now Dean had no clue how he was supposed to march through those doors with the thoughts he had toward the school.

Caleb was kind, loving, and absolutely devoted to him and his brother. To have someone accuse him of abuse or neglect? That was the furthest thing from the actual truth. If Dean did not find the situation utterly horrifying in every sense of the word, he knew he would have laughed at the allegations bombarding his family. If only they knew the truth about how they were raised, if only those people had the insight to realize how close each and every one of them was.

Hoping that he could distract his mind from the pressing thoughts he had about how the interview was progressing, he headed into the basement with the intent of ridding his mind of as much frustration as he could. Turning into the spare room that housed their workout equipment, he bent down and opened the chest that stored their treasure trove of workout supplies. Digging through some of the things that were on top, he selected workout gloves.

Although he had no one to spar with, he was intent on punching anything that was in his immediate range. Fastening the gloves on his hands, he took a moment to breathe while he listened to the sounds upstairs. Sam was in the kitchen, but could hear him change course and head downstairs. Maybe he would be willing to train a little with his brother. Beyond that, Dean could pick up the sound of Jim talking to someone on the phone. From the tone of his voice, he was speaking with someone that was familiar to them.

Standing up once he was sure he could handle the pressure of resuming his normal activities while he waited for Caleb, he strode into the main room of the basement where they did their workouts. For the last several years, he had performed his workout routine with Caleb. He was his trainer in all things supernatural, and had even started working with Sam once the child expressed interest in following in his family's legacy. Doing anything without Caleb's guidance, felt strange, but he was willing to try.

Glancing around the large main room of the basement that boasted a large screen television and plenty of seating arrangements for those times when their family had a movie night, he sat down on the footstool and tried to center his mind on what he knew he needed to focus on. That was part of the training Caleb coached him through. When his mind was elsewhere, he found that the accuracy of his training was diminished.

The problem was grounding his mind in anything other than the interview with Family Services. Those people had dominated his brain ever since the previous day when they first got the call back at the safe house. If they had never called, Dean knew they would still be where they were supposed to be while they researched their cases, and looked for ways to kill the YED. Having the safety of the safe house torn from them, was not a comforting thought.

Taking a sip from his water bottle, his eyes landed on the research his family brought home with them. The possible werewolf case was what they were now setting their eyes on. Studying the peculiar pieces of the case, he could not comprehend how a vicious beast like that could target innocent children. As long as he had known about werewolves, he had never known them to attack specific people.

Processing the change in their pattern, he took a notepad and wrote down the names of the victims and their places of death. One of the first things his family did when they had a new case to look at, was canvas the entire scene and link together a possible connection to all the victims. Peering at their pure faces, he could not imagine what possible connection they would have to each other, but stranger things had happened. Switching a pen for their red marker they always used when they jotted down important information, he wrote down the occupations of the parents and their causes of death.

One crucial piece of evidence that he wished they had, were the autopsy reports. Nothing was made complete in his eyes without having full access to all the grisly details surrounding a death. For his family, looking at the report and analyzing the details was what opened their eyes to what happened. Hoping that they could schedule a trip to the coroner later on, he hesitantly put his research away when Sam appeared in the room.

His brother had been more reluctant to embrace the life than Dean had. The teen understood the majority of what Sam was walking through—he did not want his family to be caught in the crossfire of a deadly attack and go the same way his father had. That part of it was something Dean sympathized with because he too had gone through the same thing. Before he began hunting with Caleb, he fought the feelings of fear that besieged him whenever his family walked out the door.

Instead of being afraid, Sam was learning to cope with it and was channeling his frustration into starting the very basics of his training. In most areas, Sam had proved to be a natural at learning what he needed. The one area he excelled in, was research. Sam's intelligent mind loved the challenge of picking apart documentation to locate the common thread between victims and killer.

Dean was more of the type of person who relished the incomparable feel of hunting something—of knowing that he did something worthwhile to help another. That was why he enjoyed those times where he could train and improve his skill. Scooting over for Sam to sit next to him, his brother instantly took notice of the files in his hand. Passing some of the papers to him, he wondered what Sam's eyes would pick up.

Unlike him, Sam was willing to be patient as he looked at the new information that was being given to him. Peering over Sam's shoulder, he laughed when his brother pushed him away.

"What do you think, Sammy? Big bad wolf gone awry?"

"More of like a big bad wolf eating morsels instead of the full thing."

Dean considered that for a minute. "Well, that's also true."

"Why do you think it changed the pattern?" Sam wondered. "I mean, don't they usually go after _anyone_?"

That was what confused Dean—the obsession this werewolf had with killing kids. It did not make his job easier, or for his family. They were always hit the hardest when they had to solve cases involving children. The purity and innocence of those types of victims, was never lost on any of them. Even Sam was now beginning to go through what his family did.

Over the years, Dean had known monsters to occasionally change their ways to do something grander. It was not hard to forget the adventures he had been on where his family had been stunned by something unexpected happening. Recalling those frantic times in his mind, helped him organize his thoughts into something resembling sanity.

"That's typically the MO of these things—the problem is that they _are_ still human. Maybe this cujo had a bad experience with the kiddos, and wants revenge? Wants to tear their hearts out and devour it."

"Or maybe the parents did something wrong. Didn't the report mention that the werewolf killed the parents, too?"

"Yeah," Dean replied, flipping to the front of the report where the faces of the parents stared up at them. "They were attacked last. So maybe, the wolf wanted the parents to see their kids dead before it killed them."

That sort of twisted way of thinking usually applied to a certain demon or spirit—having a wolf do the same thing was unsettling. They could debate the finer points of the case until they were blue in the face, but they would still never come close to guessing it until they had the time to go to each scene to process it. That was where Dean knew he would either be allowed to go, or would be forced to stay back.

"That's gross," Sam muttered.

"Tell me about it."

Standing up when he could no longer stay seated around the nerves bubbling through him, he tossed some gloves over to Sam. Sam caught them with his eyebrows raised. It was not often the two of them went head-to-head, but he wanted to see how far Sam had progressed since he started working with Caleb. Over the years, Dean had perfected his punch, and had even bested Caleb on a few occasions.

Sam was uncertain; it was obvious that he did not feel as confident in the gloves as Dean did. Motioning to him where he should stand, Dean closed the gap that remained between them and inspected how Sam was holding himself. His stance was near perfect, but his fist needed work. Giving Sam a look, he took his hand and gently righted it. Stepping back, he waited for Sam to make the first move.

"Sam, I'm starting to get gray hairs."

"I just...I don't want to hurt you."

Dean smiled, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at Sam's concern for him. When he started working out with Caleb, Sam had expressed the very same concern. What made the workouts safer, and what they strove to impart on him, was the gloves did most of the work for them. The rules Caleb applied to the training session, protected them even better.

"Sam, you won't. I promise. Do you remember the rules Caleb laid out for you? For us?"

Sam nodded. "No stomach punches, and no direct shots to the head."

"That's right. We can kick each other's asses, but be safe doing it."

Sam finally seemed to loosen up with the assurances that he was getting from Dean. "Okay."

"Hit me with your _best_ shot, and I'll try not to give it back _too_ hard."

Dean's comment seemed to awaken something within his brother that spurned him to action. Reciprocating when Sam landed a punch across his face, Dean did the same thing and watched as Sam easily remembered the steps Caleb put out for him. Each of their training techniques were specialized _for_ them. Gesturing to Sam what he was about to do, Dean abandoned the gloves and easily flipped Sam on his back.

Dean could not count the number of times where Caleb succeeded in getting him on his back after catching him off-guard. Learning the proper way to perform that move with Caleb, Dean was thrilled when he got the chance to put his training into practice. Sam was momentarily stunned when it happened, but rebounded quick and enacted another maneuver that sent Dean stumbling back a few feet.

"That was kind of awesome," Sam panted once they were done.

"Tell me about it."

"How did you learn to do that back thingy?"

Dean grinned. "From Caleb. I can't even _begin_ to tell you the number of times he caught me off-guard doing that."

Sam shook his head. "I'm sure. So what do you think is happening with Caleb's interview?"

That was the one question Dean had no clue how to respond to. He hoped that everything was going according to plan, and they would not face further inquiry after the interview, but when had anything gone according to plan?

"I don't know, Sam. I hope everything is great, but you never know. If the people listen to Caleb, it should be over by now."

* * *

It was difficult for Caleb to return home after his disastrous meeting with CPS. He could not bear to see the look on Dean's face when he sat down and informed him of the lady's suspicions. If his mind was reeling from the downfall of something like this, he could not comprehend how a teen was supposed to react.

But he had no other choice but to see the investigation through, and sit down with the boys and explain to the best of his ability what was happening. If Dean would be crushed to hear of this woman's accusations, he could not imagine how Sam would react. The little boy was honest to a fault, and would never be able to understand someone spouting untrue things about their family.

CPS was gunning to interview the boys _that_ afternoon. If he was going to further his chances of having the investigation closed peacefully, he would need to coach the boys in what to say to her and _how_ to say it. The young hunter knew better than anyone what appearances looked like, and how the tiniest inflection of the voice could drastically alter a conversation.

Dean would be far easier to teach than Sam. Dean knew more about what would be expected of him. The teen also knew how important it was to mask the truth, because ordinary people would never understand the real cause of his injuries. The truth of the hunting accident needed to be protected at all costs. It was the "cost" Caleb was worried about.

Sam would be more difficult to coach.

Ever since he had been young, it had been their (foolish) mistake to raise him with the belief that lying was bad. Jim and Caleb even went so far as to hand down punishment when he was caught in a fib. For ten years, he had been raised to know that lying was not good. Now Caleb would have the unsavory task of trying to make him understand the difference.

With only a few hours until the lady was supposed to show up on their doorstep, he wondered how he was going to prepare Sam enough so that he would handle the interview without any problem. He was charismatic enough to handle even the toughest crowd, and he hoped the same would still be true for them.

The boys would be vulnerable if they were taken now.

The demon would use that separation as his advantage to claim access to the boys. If they were taken from their care and placed in the custody of the state, they would not have any of the wards or sigils they used to keep the demon at bay. Without the weapons precious to them for protection, Dean would not be able to keep them safe.

The stakes had been raised impossibly high—his life was not only on the line—but the boys. They would be in terrible danger if they were taken. Beyond the obvious fear of something like that happening, he could not help but think about what would happen to him. If this lady was as serious as he suspected her to be, he knew to expect a quick investigation.

Pulling into their peaceful neighborhood, he tried to believe in the picture it presented. This place had been a source of peace for them; of home. The residents all knew each other, and most people respected Jim as their leader and pastor of their local church.

When he pulled into the garage and slowly got out of the car to face whatever would happen later in the day, Dean was waiting for him in the house. His face was anxious as he followed him into the living room to interrogate him about what the lady said. If only Dean knew how bad it was looking, what this woman was implying. Not to mention the evidence she had in her arsenal to back up her claims.

Collapsing on the sofa, he leaned his head back and tried to forget the look on the woman's face when she presented the pictures to him. To an outsider who had no idea what happened, the bruises on his arm would appear that he was hit. The spirit who attacked him in the cemetery that night, was what Caleb thought about.

"What happened?" Dean asked, sitting down next to him.

"A lot happened. Too much."

Dean was slower to respond this time. Taking his silence to mean that he was worried, he rubbed his knee comfortingly. Forcing a smile on his face when Sam appeared in the room, he scooted over and let Sam squeeze into a place next to him. The child was aware that something was wrong, and was taking that in his stride.

"What's going on?" Sam asked, playing with the ring on Caleb's finger. "What did the lady say?"

"She was concerned about a lot of things."

"Like what?" Dean demanded, his face morphing into one of anger.

"Well, for one, she's worried about the absences from school. She said it created "red flags" for their office."

"But that doesn't mean anything," Sam sputtered, desperately trying to understand.

"I know. She wants to interview _both_ of you this afternoon."

"She does?" Dean said, shaking his head.

Caleb nodded, running a hand over his face in complete exhaustion. "So the problem _we_ have, is figuring out how we're supposed to explain away the bruise marks on your arm." The marks had long begun the process of healing, but were still visible to the naked eye.

A doctor should have seen the marks, but Caleb knew enough in the medical field to treat the wounds on his own. The problem was CPS basing their argument off the marks that the principal first saw on Dean's arm.

"Is that her argument?" Dean asked, shaking his head incredulously.

That was reaching, and even Caleb knew that. He wished they could wake up and the entire thing could be a bad dream, but he knew better than to believe the fantasy. The worst part was watching the kids' reactions to something that should have never been an issue.

"It could signal a lot for someone who's not in the know like we are."

"But kids get bruises-" Sam interjected.

"Yes," Caleb said. "But it's _how_ serious the bruises are that is in question. It's something that should have been by a doctor."

"Yeah," Dean said. "But _you_ know what you're talking about. You told me those bruises weren't bad."

After the spirit pummeled Dean, Caleb had given him a once-over and determined that the arm was not something serious. After a little TLC on his family's part, Dean was cleared with only a bandage around the arm and some antibiotics. Once the bandage was removed, the bruise was still clear on his arm.

" _I_ know, because in our line of work, I've seen cuts and bruises a _thousand_ times more serious than those ones. But it's a question of why you weren't seen," Caleb explained, dreading his next words to Dean. "And it's a question of _how_ you got them."

"How...?" Dean recited slowly.

Caleb see that Dean was slowly connecting the dots he just spilled, but not entirely believing it. It broke Caleb's heart to see Dean come to that realization that someone honestly believed his guardian was capable of such violence.

"She thinks that I...she thinks that I hit you."

Dean shook his head, raising his fingers to swipe the tears that were coming to his eyes. Caleb could understand his pain when everything seemed to be hitting them at one time. If they were not being hounded by a demonic force, they were being chased by the YED. Now they had a human enemy; one that held the power of causing serious damage.

"Is she stupid?" Dean asked.

"She's trying to do her job," Caleb corrected. "As sucky as it is for _us,_ she has an obligation to follow up with claims like this."

"The school made them?" Sam asked quietly.

Caleb nodded. "That's right."

It still stunned him that someone who he could have shared a friendship with, was the one who reported him to the social services. The trust that he once shared with the principal, was now gone to be replaced with a feeling of betrayal and anger.

"I'm never going back there," Dean said with a furious scoff. "How could they-"

"You and Sam have both been absent several times in the last few months. Even though I tried to explain all of this, it did not seem to make a difference to her."

That in itself had not been a huge problem—it was when the school combined their absences with Dean's bruises that raised a concern for them. It created yet another firestorm in their lives.

"So," Dean said with a sigh. "How do we explain the bruises?"

"We can't tell her the truth, can't we?" Sam asked.

Caleb shook his head; he wished it could be that easy. Living the kind of life they did in the supernatural world, had created more problems than it solved most times. It would be far simpler to tell her the truth, but that would only create additional problems.

"No. I can't make this go away for you. I wish I could."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows in question.

"Someone from CPS is coming this afternoon. They made it pretty clear they want you both to be interviewed alone."

"Without you there," Sam surmised.

"Yes."

Caleb could see the fear in Dean's eyes that he would be counted on to handle the interview by himself—however he could also see a familiar spark within his green eyes that let him know he was up for the challenge. In speaking with whoever came from their office, Caleb knew Dean was nervous about messing something up.

"What am I supposed to say about my arm?"

"What do you think?" Caleb spoke softly as he took Dean's injured arm in his hand to examine it.

"I think maybe," Sam offered. "That we should just tell her that you got them from sports, or from falling."

Listening to Sam's idea about how they should handle the woman, sounded as good as anything. The woman would have no choice but to consider the very likely scenario that Dean fell playing sports. It would certainly explain the bruise marks, and maybe why he was not seen by a doctor. Letting Dean's arm fall gently once he was done, he gave him a look that said it was fine.

Dean had gotten the bruise months before after Bill died, but it was only months later that they were dealing with the fallout from that job. The round of rock salt Caleb shot at the spirit, had prevented it from doing worse.

"Sam," Dean said, turning to face his brother. "Do you understand what you need to do?"

Sam was hesitant to answer, but eventually nodded. "Yes."

"Do you get that she _cannot_ know about anything we do that helps people?" Caleb pressed.

Sam nodded, more confident in his answer. "Yes. With his answer, Caleb hoped he would not freeze up during the interrogation.

* * *

Caleb spent the entire day dreading the moment when the woman would come to their house and speak with Sam and Dean. It was not that he harbored any doubts they could effectively carry the conversation and spin it into something that would not mean anything bad for them, but that she would lead them into answering questions they had no clue how to process. Pacing the living room was the safest bet for him to retain control over his own thoughts.

Dean was lounged in the recliner, not offering any conversation to indicate how he was feeling. It only took one look for Caleb to make a pretty accurate assumption how he was doing. The teen was rightfully furious with his school for being this down on them. Caleb could not blame him when they already had plenty on their plates. Offering him a smile, he shook his head to let him know it would be no big deal.

Jumping a little when the doorbell rang, he gave Dean a look before going to answer it. Sam tiptoed behind him, the nervousness clear on his face as he waited for his guardian to answer the door. When Caleb did, he was not surprised to see the same woman he spoke with earlier. Instead of wearing the smug look he saw earlier, she now had a much friendlier air about her.

"I need to speak with the children separately," she said, by way of greeting.

"Why?" Caleb demanded, feeling his eyebrows shoot up.

"It's procedure."

Caleb knew that "procedure" was making sure their stories added up together. It made him sick.

"Fine," he spat through gritted teeth. "Sam, do you want to talk to her first?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, sure."

Caleb figured it would be easier for Sam if he got his interview over with first, and no longer had to worry about what he would say to her. The woman took Sam outside on the deck where they could speak privately. Waiting until they were outside, Caleb and Dean crept up against the opposite wall where they could still hear everything.

"Do you think he'll be able to handle her questions?" Dean whispered.

In truth, Caleb had no idea how Sam would approach her questions. He knew how nervous Sam was about saying anything to her that he might mess up. With Sam going through those fears in his heart, Caleb knew how easy it would be for him to mess up.

"I hope. It's a lot to ask of a child."

"I know."

Falling silent when Miranda Baker started the questioning, Caleb peered around the corner and saw enough of her profile to note she was sitting across from Sam. At least that way she was not sitting next to him, and providing him with more of a fear than he already had. Sam, for the most part, was comfortable with her.

"So, Sam," Miranda said, beginning her interview after a few minutes of trying to get to know Sam better. "Are you a happy kid?"

"Yeah," Sam replied with a smile, as he twisted his body to observe a butterfly.

Miranda smiled at his apparent enthusiasm, but she had seen too many cases for her to completely believe what he was saying. Far too often, children were simply too scared to admit to the truth. Helping those children was one of the reasons she got into Social Services.

"Do you have a lot of friends?"

Sam nodded eagerly. "Yes!"

"Tell me about them," she encouraged.

Sam was only _too_ happy to indulge in his favorite conversation. The friends Sam had at school, were very important to him and he never missed the chance to update his family on how they were. Dean was glad his brother could have that kind of connection with other people.

"Jacob is my _best_ friend. He loves playing soccer like I do."

Miranda adjusted her questioning based on the answers he was giving her. Sam was an open book with most people he came across, and that included this lady. It was kids like Sam that made her job easy. There was no need to coax answers from him when he willingly supplied them.

"Do you play soccer a lot?"

Sam nodded, reaching under the table for his soccer ball that was near death from misuse. " _All_ the time. We actually made it to the play-offs last year."

"That sounds awesome, sweetie. Can you tell me how often you're in school? Do you practice soccer at school?"

Listening to Sam's conversation from inside, Dean tensed. He knew that Sam would either ace the questions without fail, or he would have problems. He wished more than anything that this woman would not push this investigation this far and would allow them to live in peace.

"I play a lot at school," Sam answered.

"How often are you _in_ school?"

"Not a lot lately," Sam quietly admitted, swinging his legs underneath the picnic table they were sitting at.

In the house, Dean groaned quietly. "Sam, stop talking."

"Why aren't you in school?" Miranda pressed, knowing she found her opening to dig deeper.

"Um-" Sam started, his face downcast.

"I wish he would _stop_ talking," Dean said, knowing that the interview was going very wrong.

"He can't," Caleb replied with a sigh. "He has to answer the questions she has. I wish _she_ would stop asking him these types of questions."

Caleb wanted more than anything to barge in on the interview, and demand that he be present for the questioning. As much as he may have wished he could do something like that, he also realized that it would not help his cause at all.

"It's okay," Miranda coaxed. "You can talk to me, honey."

"I'm not supposed to," Sam squirmed.

Miranda raised an eyebrow. Finally she was peeling back the protective layer that Sam was hiding under. At least she was starting to get a clearer picture as to what was happening in these lives that were being disrupted.

"You're not _supposed_ to?"

"No."

If Caleb was finding it hard to control his reaction to the questions being posed to Sam, Dean was no better. The fifteen-year-old moaned, palming his face in complete horror at how the interview was progressing. "I can't believe this. Why would he say that?"

"Don't be mad at him," Caleb rebuked. "It was a lot for us to expect him to pull this off perfectly."

Once it was clear Sam would no longer provide any further details on the subject of school, Miranda switched her focus to a more urgent matter. Mainly how the boys were being raised. Walking into the house, she had not seen anything that raised an alarm in her mind. As much as she wanted to believe the picture it presented, she knew better than to go off it alone.

"What about Caleb? Is he a good guardian?"

"Yeah," Sam smiled. "He's _amazing_!"

From inside, Caleb smiled in spite of himself. At least Sam had no problem answering these questions, because he knew them to be the absolute truth. He had never been anything less than amazing with them since day one.

"Does he ever get mad at you?" Miranda asked, her eyes lowering in sympathy for him.

"No."

"Even when he punishes you?"

"He gets mad sometimes," Sam explained. "But he never gets really mad, you know?"

"I do," Miranda nodded. "How does he punish you?"

Sam tapped his chin playfully while he thought about her question. If there was one thing that was good about Sam's performance during the interview, it was that he was able to pass off any question with his typical adorable way of contemplating the issue. Having that attitude was what Dean suspected helped his brother handle it.

"When I was _really_ young, he would put me in the corner. Which I hated. Now he just grounds me from stuff."

"He never spanks you?"

"No."

Even though spanking was not an issue in the eyes of the law, at least not when it was done right, Caleb was still relieved he never resorted to that, or that Sam would not be forced to answer that question in the positive. Giving Dean a look, he squeezed his shoulder and tried to induce some amount of peace in him.

"What about your brother?"

"What about him?" Sam asked, confusion written clear on his face.

Miranda knew she had to be careful going into this particular topic—Sam would be conflicted in his loyalty and would try to protect both Dean _and_ his guardian. It was this part of the job that she never thought would take such an emotional toll on her, but she was wrong. Having to get difficult answers from unwilling kids was what she was trained for, but what she found the hardest.

"I saw those bruises on his arm. They looked like they hurt. Do you know anything about those?"

"No."

"Anything at all," Miranda encouraged. "It's important, Sam."

Caleb understood the reason she was hassling Sam to give her answers he knew he was not supposed to give her. Without solid evidence to prove her abuse theory, she would have nothing to continue with. Sam was the closest witness that would be able to shine a light on what was happening behind closed doors.

"You wouldn't understand."

"What wouldn't I understand?"

"Caleb said I'm not supposed to say anything, that you wouldn't understand."

Caleb felt sick to his stomach when he heard Sam's explanation to her—instead of feeling mad, he felt heartbroken. To anyone who did not know, it appeared he coached Sam on how to answer her. More than that, he had just blown their cover and exposed their family to even more scrutiny.

"I can't believe he said that," Dean whispered.

"It's not his fault," Caleb reminded him. "You just have to get out there, and see what you can salvage from this interview."

"Okay."

"In the meantime, I'm calling Dawn."

His powerhouse attorney who helped him through too many tight spots to name. With her, he felt completely confident she would be able to either make it go away, or she would provide him with the representation he needed to fight whatever charges arose from it.

He definitely needed her. Fast.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Even though Miranda was not supposed to base her opinions off a case based off one interview, she could not help it when Sam excused himself from the interview so abruptly. Plastering a smile on her face for Dean's sake when he walked out, she hoped he would talk. "Are you Dean?"

"Yes," Dean replied. The teen radiated confidence as he took his place across from her at the picnic table.

It made her wonder if he was naturally that way, or if someone coached him to act like that. She knew so little about this family, but she was starting to get the general gist of what was happening. Even without Sam ending the interview as quickly as he did, she already suspected something was amiss when she noticed his family eavesdropping on the interview.

Dean would be harder to converse with because he would be naturally versed in what to say. If he was the product of abuse like her office assumed, she could only imagine how he would respond to the questions being asked. Certain children in certain instances felt protective over their family, even if the situation was not in their best interest.

Aware of that fact, she proceeded carefully with the process. Glancing discreetly over her shoulder toward the house, she could see Caleb and Sam watching them. In a way, it warmed her heart that their family could be so cautious with each other, but another part of her was already raising the question that perhaps something more sinister was amiss.

"I'm Miranda Baker, I'm with Family Services. I came here to ask you and your brother some questions." She did not miss the way he tensed, how he was completely different from his brother.

A child like that would be more savvy at dodging her questions, and replacing them with the ones she wanted to hear. The problem was that as part of her training years before, she had come to know those tricks and how to maneuver around them. Instead of being angry at the children when they pulled those tricks, she felt sympathy well in her heart.

"Questions about what?" Dean asked, scratching something on his chin.

"Well, just questions about you! I know," she said, her tone softening. "This all sounds crazy, right?"

"Yeah," Dean admitted, turning his head to look at a passing butterfly that was perched on the deck. "I don't really understand it, to be honest."

"I can understand that. So are you a happy kid?"

Dean's answer was terribly predictable. His nod was instantaneous. This teen was an expert at talking to people, and she could see that from the way he effortlessly handled her questions and the infectious smile he put on his face when talking to her. Someone like that would be a challenge, but one she was prepared to handle.

"Yeah, I am."

"Do you have any friends?"

Dean shrugged. "I'm selective about my friends. But the ones that I _do_ have, are pretty amazing."

"Do you play sports?"

Dean shook his head. "I did when I was young, like T-ball and stuff. Sam's the jock in the family. His soccer team made it to the play-offs last year."

"Did he really?"

"Yeah."

Miranda already heard that answer from Sam, but she was curious to know what Dean's take would be on all this. When she changed her questions to being about sports and Sam, the teen's face lit up like a Christmas tree. The love that she could see for his brother, was as heartwarming as it was beautiful for her to grasp.

When Dean raised his arm to wipe something from his eyes, she did not miss the ugly bruise marks on his upper arm. Looking at the marks that spoke to her better than words ever could, she felt tears come to her eyes before she wiped them away. It was hard for her to conceive of someone hitting another person that hard to cause marks of that nature.

Although she was not supposed to judge a situation until she had all the facts gathered into one file, it was impossible not to feel a flash of anger go through her at his family. The people who were supposed to protect this child, had clearly failed to do their job. Not only did she blame Caleb for the marks, but she also could see a potential case against his other guardian that lived in the house. Jim Murphy.

The pastor may have never raised a hand to harm Dean, but he was as much a part of it in his refusal to protect him from his abuser. If nothing else, she could charge _him_ with a lesser charge if the evidence was found to support it.

"How often would you say you were in school, Dean?"

Dean raised his hand for emphasis. "I'm in school as much as I can."

"How often?" Miranda pressed.

Unsurprisingly Dean reacted to her questions in the exact same way that his brother had—with nervousness and trepidation—it was not a massive shock but more confirmation of what she suspected. Unlike Sam, Dean was more confident in handling her questions, but she could still see the same thing.

"I couldn't give you an exact time. We're there as much as we're able."

"You see," Miranda disagreed calmly. "We have it down that you and your brother have been absent over _twenty_ times in the last three or four months."

An uncharacteristic fear was starting to smooth over Dean's face when he processed her words. It made her wonder where his fear was coming from. Was it fear over being caught? Or was it fear of something happening to his family?

"I know it looks bad," Dean replied smoothly. "But our friend died a few months ago. We took time off to deal with all that stuff happening to us."

"What about recently?"

"We've been sick."

The classic excuse that was given in nearly every situation she handled—the abuser (and the abused) did not often like to admit what was happening. Because of that, she heard every excuse in the book as to why something was the way it was. A sick excuse was no stranger to her or her department. What mattered was sifting through the plethora of evidence to find truth in it.

"How come there was no doctor's note? The school requires that sometimes, or it becomes an issue of truancy."

"We didn't go," Dean answered. "We had colds and crap."

Miranda found that hard to believe. "Your family did not think it would be appropriate to treat a cold or virus by going to a _doctor_?"

"Not if they had the right stuff to treat it, no."

"I see."

Her natural compassion for children and helping them, was starting to get in the way of her judgment. Understanding she was dangerously close to snapping beyond the point of no return, she took a few deep breaths and diverted her focus elsewhere.

"Is that all?" Dean prompted.

"No, Dean. I was wondering if you could tell me what happened to your arm."

"Nothing," he answered without hesitation.

Miranda found that incredibly difficult to believe. Her office had their own specialists examine the photographs as part of their proceedings, and they all came to the conclusion that the marks should have been seen by a doctor. More than that, the evidence clearly pointed to someone being the cause of it.

"Nothing?" she repeated, raising her eyebrows.

"Yes," Dean said, leaning forward to capture her gaze in his. "Nothing."

"You see, honey, we have an obligation to investigate marks of this nature and ask the hard questions. The hard question in this case, is why they were not seen by a doctor, and how they happened at all."

"I was out playing with my friends. I slipped on the wet cement, and banged my arm. I hid it after. I shouldn't have."

* * *

"Did I mess things up?" Sam fretted, hovering anxiously around Caleb while he waited for Dawn to show up. He made the call to her while Dean had been talking with the caseworker. Not to his surprise, Dawn instantly agreed to take the case on after she retrieved the case files related to the investigation.

Even though it would have been easier to blame Sam for the way the afternoon progressed, Caleb knew he could not when the woman showed up with an agenda on her mind and a plan set in motion. He hated it. He could not fathom someone coming into his home, and accusing him of abuse when it was the furthest thing from the truth.

"No," Caleb reassured him. "You didn't mess anything up, Sam. You handled her questions very well."

"But I messed up. I can't believe I did that."

"It could have happened to anyone."

"Okay," Sam said slowly, and Caleb could tell he was still not sure whether to believe him or not. "Dean was really mad at me."

"He's _upset_ ," Caleb said firmly. "He knows it was an awful lot to place on you."

He wished Sam could have followed the script, but he knew better than anyone how hard that would have been for Sam to carry the interview flawlessly. It was Miranda who he harbored resentment over because of her insistence on handling the questioning the way that she did.

It was obvious Sam was unsure, but he seemed to be trying his best to get over his hesitation over the whole thing. Plopping down on the couch when Sam did, he tried to smooth his face into something resembling a smile so the child would not feel any more fear than necessary.

"Who's coming over?"

"My attorney. Dawn."

"Is she nice?" Sam asked, turning to look at Caleb with the kind of soulful innocence that had been in short supply recently.

"She is."

There had been a point in time when his attorney saved his life from a lifetime prison sentence. If she could figure a way out of that nightmare for him, he saw no reason why she could not work her magic on this case and end up with the same results. There was something about _this_ case that communicated to him that it was different.

If anyone could successfully tackle a tough caseworker, it would be his equally powerful attorney who delighted in winning over juries and helping judges see the right picture. The way Dawn fearlessly demanded the attention of everyone in the courtroom, was a sight to behold.

When the doorbell rang, Sam made a hasty retreat upstairs so Caleb and Dawn could have their meeting in private. Caleb also had the sneaking suspicion that he did not want to burden his mind with anything having to do with the case.

Feeling his heart hammer in his chest, he paused before throwing the door open. Even though he was glad to see her after a long separation, he wished they could have it under better circumstances without some crisis that needed her attention.

This time was no different.

"Hey, girl," he said, reaching out to give her a warm hug.

"Hey back," she replied, reciprocating the hug. "I still don't understand how this always happens to you. Are you just cursed to have all this legal trouble? Or are the rumors true?"

"Ouch," Caleb said. "You just stabbed me in the heart."

"I highly doubt I managed to do that. Your heart is too strong to be hurt."

Caleb smiled, not able to resist her when she had the power of putting him perfectly at peace when the rest of the world seemed to be throwing him one curveball after another. Leading the way into the kitchen where they could discuss the case over some coffee, he could feel her eyes bore into his back.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Dawn shrugged, accepting the mug of coffee. Everything about her was made of pure confidence, and it was impossible not to feel some of that rub off on him.

"Just doing my job."

"Speaking of," he said, dreading his next question to her. "What's the situation with CPS?"

"Well," Dawn said, reaching down to grab the file she brought with her. "These claims they're making? They're not funny, Caleb."

"I gather. But how serious is it?"

Dawn shook her head, speechless. "All they have right now are the bruise marks on Dean, and the absences. Those alone are not bad, but when combined? They do not paint a pretty picture."

Caleb had suspected all of this all along. It was not hard to guess what CPS was thinking when they pounced as quickly as they had. It was what would end up happening to him and the boys that created a panic within him that was not entirely unfounded.

"What are they trying to prove?"

"The caseworker is going to finish her preliminary findings, and then submit them into evidence for a later hearing."

Caleb shook his head, not bothering to raise his head to acknowledge Jim when he walked through the door. His friend had been lucky to avoid the questions that he was facing. The pastor said a quiet hello to Dawn, before seating himself at the table with them.

"What is she going to say? Or don't you know?"

"Unfortunately," Dawn said with a tight smile. "I _do_ know the crux of it."

"And what is that?" Jim asked, clasping his hands in front of him as he traded looks with Caleb.

"The state has to follow very specific regulations when it concerns abuse and neglect claims. Right now, she _knows_ the neglect aspect is shady. However, she's gunning for first degree abuse of a child. For both of you, actually."

That was the last thing Caleb had expected to hear when he started the conversation with her. From the look of horror on Jim's face as he struggled to soak in the words she recited to them, he was trying to figure out a way to turn her words over to mean something else. Not only was CPS trying to tear Caleb from the boys' lives, but now they were trying to do the same thing to Jim.

"What are the rules that define neglect?" Jim asked, taking a breath.

"It could be anything really," Dawn admitted. "But mainly, inappropriate education, failure to provide emotional or physical support."

"None of that is true," Caleb insisted.

"What are they trying to say about me?" Jim asked, rubbing a hand down his face.

Dawn winced in support of the pastor. "That basically you stood by and did nothing while the boys were being abused. For that? They could charge you with accessory, or having knowledge of the crime."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

If there was one thing that held the power of making Dean forget the pain of having someone from CPS come and interview him and his brother, it was resuming their investigation into the gruesome deaths of some children and their parents. Their initial thought had been to suspect a werewolf was the culprit after finding out about the missing hearts. That theory was still holding strong as they tried to forget the previous day, and refocus their attention on something productive.

It was not easy to center his mind on the hunt when everything else had gone wrong for them. The image of the friendly woman was still stuck in his mind as she pressed him to answer questions about his family that he did not want to share. With keeping that information from her, he knew he was only casting more suspicion on himself and his family. There was no way he was going to tell her the truth. Not when he understood what people thought of those who claimed to hunt the supernatural.

Telling Miranda (or anyone else), was simply not an option. Finding the will to sleep the night of the interview had proved to be a useless endeavor when Dean's mind was far too excited to accomplish much. As he tucked his arm under his pillow, and made a solid effort to push himself to sleep, he overheard Jim and Caleb talking in the other room. Much to Dean's silent horror, CPS was now finding a reason to investigate the pastor after suspecting he had knowledge of the abuse.

As if having one member of his family investigated was not bad enough. Now CPS was gunning to charge his other guardian with the same offense after finding probable cause to believe he had knowledge of what happened. Turning into his pillow so his family could not hear him, Dean cried as quietly as he could. It had been days of suppressing the very worst of emotions the human mind could dredge up. In that night before morning light fell upon them, he let his emotions run wild while he could.

When morning _did_ come, a peaceful numbness had settled over the teen as he got up and began the process of getting himself ready for the day. Caleb and Jim did not know what he overheard between them, and he was not sure how to bring it up. Deciding not to for the moment, he ate his breakfast and tied his shoes to go to the medical examiner to examine the bodies. One of the more unsavory parts of their work, involved taking a peek at mutilated bodies.

Understanding that his emotions might be compromised when he saw the bodies of children, he braced himself for that emotional roller-coaster the best he could. Not to his surprise, Sam wanted to tag along with them. Over the last few months since being officially inducted into what his family did, the child had taken to their life and had slowly began to feel more comfortable with what was expected of him. Hoping that attitude would continue, their family tried to include him in as many jobs as they could.

Walking out into the bitterly cold air of a late January morning, he pulled his arms around himself and got in the front seat next to Jim. The pastor was going to be heading the investigation that morning while Caleb tried his best to sleep in, and then consult with Dawn about the status of the investigation. Having Jim at the wheel (both literally and figuratively), was a welcome relief. It had been too long since Dean got the chance to spend quality time with him.

Sam was excited about spending that time with their guardian too. Having that time together as a family was incomparable to them when they knew how delicate it was. When Sam turned on one of his favorite rock stations, Dean groaned. He loved rock music, but his brother had chosen the wrong decade.

Tolerating it while he could, he nodded along to the soothing guitar riffs and the lyrics that seemed to sing to his soul. Rolling the window down, he let some of the cold in as his hand flowed along the road like a kite. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine an alternate universe where he was not making himself enjoy the day. Normally he did not have too many problems having fun with life, but ever since Bill and CPS, he was starting to slip into another realm.

Jim took notice of the music the boys liked to listen to, but did not make a comment on it other than to turn it down to a tolerable level. One of their very favorite things about the pastor was his willingness to compromise on the type of music they liked to listen to. Even though it undoubtedly made him uncomfortable, he let it slide for the boys.

Looking out the window as they strolled through town, he could not see where the medical examiner would be. It was not very often they got lucky enough to have a case be so close to home. It was a lucky break, and one that Dean was not arguing with. Turning the station once Sam's song ended, he found a station from the era his father enjoyed.

"How come you never restricted our music?" Sam asked from the backseat.

"Well," Jim explained, pausing in his speech to turn the wheel. "I figured that I better pick my battles. Even though this music is not my cup of tea, it's something you two enjoy."

"Cool," Dean said. "You probably saved me long, excruciating hours of listening to _Disney_ crap."

"Hey!" Sam protested. "I only liked _some_ of their stuff."

Twisting around in his seat when he could not bear the lies, he was met with Sam's cheesy grin as he regarded the look of fury on Dean's face that was mixed with the grin that was slowly appearing on his face. One of Sam's very favorite things was to irritate Dean where he knew it would hurt.

"Only some?" Dean prompted. "Dude, I'm sure I know the lyrics to Bibbidi—bobbidi—boo by now."

" _That_ is because you love the song," Sam insisted. "I heard you humming it one day."

"Yep, and I wanted to claw my ears off."

Dodging out of the way when Sam aimed a punch at his shoulder, he soon fought back with a punch of his own. Roughousing with Sam was an opportunity he never passed up when Sam provided the perfect chances for them to do so. To his credit, Jim allowed the fun to happen in the car. Dean wondered if the pastor came by his patience naturally, or was a product of his faith.

"What about your rock music?" Sam retorted.

"What about it?" Dean asked with a scoff. "It's awesome."

Sam lowered his eyes deviously. "Some of it is."

" _Some_?" Dean repeated, his mouth dropping open. "You take that back, Sammy. That kind of treachery will not be tolerated in this car."

Sam shook his head, biting his bottom lip as he thought about something else he could say that would frustrate Dean. Staring out the window while they drove in silence, Dean could not help but wonder where the werewolf was. If it was hiding somewhere, or if it was a normal human again. That was what made werewolf hunts so painfully unique in that the predator was often a human.

It would make hunting and killing it that much more hard on him. Caleb had done his best to prepare Sam for how to handle the inevitable pain that would result from killing something like that, but it was Dean who was now needing those lessons again as he fought to stave the panic off. A werewolf hunt was what he had been itching to go on, but now he was not so sure.

The need to kill something was overpowering in its desire, but he was not sure _what_ he wanted to kill. Moving around in his seat, he tried to ground his thoughts in serving another person by killing the wolf. If someone could be saved from the same gruesome fate, he would gladly pick up his gun or knife and stab its heart with silver. Running his hand down his face when he considered the enormity of the task ahead, he could not wait until he got the chance to confirm what they were doing.

Confirmation only came after they examined the bodies for themselves, and learned more intel from the medical examiner. They wanted to talk to the local police to glean some more insight into what their suspect was, but Dean was not sure he wanted to go that far unless they had to. Having those conversations with law enforcement, was always risky when the police were often smart and able to pick up on things.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Jim asked, rubbing Dean's knee.

Dean shook his head. "Just thinking."

"About?" Jim pressed.

"How Sam needs to be seriously educated in what good music is."

"I heard that," Sam mumbled.

It was a fireproof Dean wrapped around himself—to avoid talking about what was really on his mind. He could not imagine something happening to Jim at the same time as Caleb. That reality was simply be too terrible for him to imagine. When Dean chanced a look at Jim, he saw the look in his eyes that told him he was well aware that something else was going on.

"Dean, I've raised you for the last ten years. I know things about you that you may not even be aware of. Why don't you let me in for just one second, and tell me what's on that mind of yours?"

Dean sighed. "I heard you and Caleb talking last night."

With that piece of information out in the open, Sam leaned forward and splayed his arms across the two front seats to listen in. Giving Sam a look that lost its power when he was brutally reminded of what could happen to his family, he turned back to the road they were on. A multitude of buildings were soaring past them. Any one of them could be the one they were looking for.

Jim's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Talking? About what?" There was nothing in his eyes but quiet curiosity that he always had on his face.

"I heard...I heard you talking about CPS looking into _you_ now."

Jim nodded slowly, admitting what Dean responded to him with. There was nothing to be found in his eyes but understanding and even a light that Dean could not place. Turning his head to look at Sam for his reaction, he saw the bewilderment and then eventual fear spread over his face.

"That was true-" Jim began.

"Why would they look at you?" Sam demanded, struggling to understand.

"Because they believed that I had insight into what was happening, that I failed to protect you-"

"Yeah, but-" Dean started to say, but was stopped when Jim held his hand up.

"Dean," Jim said soothingly. "I said 'believed' because something happened this morning while you were still sleeping."

That was promising; at least Jim was not speaking in the present tense about CPS investigating him. Holding his panic until Jim was done explaining the situation to him, he felt his heart increase when he spotted the lone building on the side of the road that had the medical examiner's name on it.

"So what happened?" Dean asked, keeping his eyes locked on the building.

"Well, Dawn talked to a representative from there last night. They said that while they had questions for me, they did not have enough proof to launch an investigation yet. They want to make sure, but from the way the lady made it sound, it was not an issue."

"Then why-"

"I think it might have been a scare tactic."

"But," Sam said, reaching out his hand to touch Jim's shoulder. "You're okay?"

"For right now, Sam."

"They aren't going to haul your butt to jail?" Dean teased, feeling his earlier anxiety vanish.

"Not so far."

It was not often they were given a break like that—minutes earlier Dean had been terrified of having to face someone else in his life leaving him. Hearing that CPS was erring on the side of caution with Jim, was a welcome relief to him. Now that his fear was gone, he tried to find humor in the situation.

"That's a shame. I'd pay money to see you in a cell, especially among people who might recognize you."

Jim shook his head. "I'm sure you would, Dean. I think Caleb would, too."

"And uncle Bobby," Sam put-in.

Jim shook his head in amusement as he pulled into the nearest parking spot. "Definitely Bobby."

* * *

Getting out once he was sure he could brave the cold weather, Dean stepped through the slush to reach the lonely front door that had one sign hanging loosely that signaled it was open. Walking through the cold and impersonal place, he selected a plastic seat to sit on while Jim walked up to the front to speak with the lady at the desk.

The room smelled thickly of antiseptic and death. It was not a pleasant smell to behold when he was there to view dead bodies. Reaching forward to grab a sports magazine from the stack on the table, he flipped through the outdated magazine and soaked in the plentiful models whose pictures were splashed across the middle section. Smiling at one in particular, he showed it to Sam.

His brother, at eleven, was not nearly as tuned in to what his brother thought was so beautiful about those women and only shook his head. Rolling his eyes at Sam's inability to appreciate art, he continued leafing through his reading material until Jim snatched it from his hands. Giving him a look that indicated his outrage, he folded his arms across his chest and pretended to be annoyed.

Paying attention to the music that was playing in the distant, he wondered where it was coming from. Once before, he walked in on a medical examiner performing an autopsy who was listening to the very greatest Metallica hits. Although it was a cool sight to see, it also unnerved Dean. Stretching his legs out, he tried to be calm.

"I know you're mad at me," Sam whispered, looking at his brother from behind thick lashes.

Dean shook his head, denying that statement. "I'm not mad. I'm tired of all this."

"You're _tired_?" Jim asked, looking up from his perusal of his own reading material.

There was so much that he was tired of. Most notably the continued investigation into their lives. Dawn had not offered much hope when she concluded her conversation with Caleb. Dean hoped that her attitude was only a way to not provide them with false hope.

"Tired of all this crap coming down on us. I wish people would stop coming after us, and leave us alone. Leave _Caleb_ alone."

Sam nodded, resting his head on Dean's shoulder. "I'm sorry I froze when she started to ask me those questions."

"It's not your fault, Sam. She put you on the spot," Jim said. "That wasn't fair to you."

Jim's reassurances seemed to make Sam feel better about his slip-up. In truth, Dean knew that it would not have made a difference. Miranda Baker walked into their house with her own preconceived ideas of what was happening to them. No matter how untruthful it was, she thought she knew the answer.

"What's going to happen?" Sam asked, kicking his legs impatiently. "What could she do?"

"A lot," Dean answered honestly. "She could do a lot." It sickened him to think about what happen if the worst thing happened.

Striding through the pearly-white double doors that led into the examination room, Dean tried not to lose his breakfast when he spotted the doors that all stored the bodies of the victims. Unlike the people he was used to looking at when they died, he would be forcing himself to ogle at children. If possible, that reminder only made him loath the werewolf even more. The room was cold, providing the bodies with the coverage they needed to fight decomposition.

There had only been a few times when Dean had been permitted to accompany his family into these rooms. Most times, they were not able to pass him off as being older than he was. That was why Jim had worked with them on a cover story if someone asked. Thankfully, the lone man in the room did not seem to care about the two children walking into the room. If anything, he seemed thrilled that they were working the field so young.

Ignoring his bright optimism, he stuck close to his guardian and watched while the orange-haired man pulled open the first tray that housed the first victim. Taking a second to compose himself before he walked forward, he stepped over the invisible line to take a peek at the girl. Her thick brunette hair was spread out over her shoulders. Her cherry-red lips were closed peacefully, and her eyes had a hint of makeup done to them.

Preparing himself for disgust when the man pulled back the sheet even further, Sam was the first one to gasp when he saw the gaping hole in her chest where her heart should have been. The reality of the sickening crime was brought home to him as he fought to keep a lid over his own emotions. Most of his training had to do with learning how to take sights like that one. Dean was utilizing every resource he had to keep going.

"Vanessa Clary," the man said. "She was found late Wednesday night."

"Where?" Jim asked.

"In her bedroom. After the police found her parents. Poor people."

"What did they say happened?" Dean asked, carefully picking something on the body that looked like it might be cause for later exploration.

The man shook his head. "A robbery gone bad."

That explanation did not sit well with the hunters charged with solving this mystery. A robbery did not often include a murder of this graphic nature. Contemplating a way to dig deeper without having to slip what they were really doing, he distracted himself from that question by staring at her face.

"It doesn't seem like a robbery," Jim pointed out. "It seems like a-"

"Wild animal did this," the man offered.

"Exactly."

"If I didn't know any better," the man continued, thrilled that someone was validating his theory. "I would say it was a...a werewolf that did this."

"You seem to have a very...imaginative mind," Dean said, wincing.

"Well, I tried thinking of another explanation, but can you explain how else this would happen to a poor young girl?"

The problem was that Dean _agreed_ with what this man assumed—confirming those beliefs? That would be another story altogether. As much as he was tempted to praise the man for his thorough detective work, he would not be doing him any favors by exposing the ugly truth to him.

"Like you said," Jim finally said. "Maybe this _was_ an animal."

"Maybe."

Waiting until the man finally left them alone to do their job, Dean snapped on medical gloves and tried to hold his nose through the atrocious smells that came from the bodies. Taking a closer look into the chest, he could not believe any animal had the audacity to tear a heart from the victim. It was what made the werewolf particularly nasty.

Jim was working silently beside him, but even he seemed to be affected by what he was witnessing. For most hunters who had been exposed to the life from a young age, this kind of thing did not carry the same weight anymore. For people like Sam and Dean, the raw horror of it was still fresh. Leaning back when he did something that caused the victim to spurt blood all over the place, he was glad he thought to wear the gown that was offered.

Sam was cautious about approaching the table Jim and Dean were working at, but eventually braved the disgusting sight and tried to see what he could do. Giving his brother a look, Dean carefully handed him some goggles. No sooner had Sam fitted them on, than another burst of blood splashed him across the goggles. Laughing when he could no longer help it, Sam glowered at him.

"What do you think this is?" Dean asked, looking at Jim for his wisdom.

"Looks like what we suspected. The wolf did this to these poor people."

"Bodies spread out over every full moon," Dean said, shaking his head. "Their insides look like spaghetti."

"Or ribbons," Sam added.

"I think we know _what_ our culprit is," Jim said, taking a step back. "Next I think we need to find out _who_ it is."

That would mean going to the police station to look at security footage from the night the bodies were found. Relieved to be out of that oppressive place, Dean waved goodbye to the friendly man and got out as quickly as he could. Never more grateful to feel cold air, he hurried across the parking lot to enter the car.

Surprised when Sam did not battle him for the front seat, he leaned back and watched as Jim took their car out into the busy intersection to reach the station. Squeezing the sweat from his face, he hoped they would have a better picture of who their wolf might be. Looking at tapes was helpful, but not always reliable.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Waiting for answers was nearly impossible for Caleb. He understood that CPS had to conduct their investigation and submit their findings into evidence for a court hearing, but he was not ready to face the music. The boys would have Jim and Bobby if something happened to him, but he was desperate to stop that scenario from playing out. It had been days since CPS came to his house and spoke with the boys.

At least Jim was not being charged with a crime after Dawn got the story from someone within the CPS office. Having that ray of hope made the prospect of going to jail, not that scary when he factored in the safety of the boys if something happened. Being accused of a crime he did not commit, was not an easy burden to bear when he had been accused of crimes he did not have a part in. Hoping that it would go away before too long, he paced the length of the living room floor.

He had a call-in to Dawn at her office, but had not heard back from her. Busying his mind was pointless when it was far too rattled to be productive. Resting his eyes on their big case, he peered at the pictures of the victims of the suspected werewolf. Jim had taken Sam and Dean to investigate at the medical examiner's and police department, but had not heard anything back so far.

That was not a problem itself when he knew how long those investigations took. Not being part of the excitement was what Caleb found hard to bear. Landing on the sofa while he tried to contain the part of him that longed to escape from the pressing reality of being investigated, he looked toward the door when the shrill doorbell resounded through his ears.

Hoping it was not someone arriving to slam more bad news on his his already fractured heart, he took his time answering it. When he saw Dawn's face, he both relaxed and tensed in tandem. She would never show up unannounced unless there was something wrong. With that thought holding him captive, he threw her a tight smile before stepping aside to let her in. Giving her a hug, he led the way into the kitchen where a cup of coffee was brewing.

Not bothering to speak when he could feel something wrong with the way she was acting, he took his time getting everything ready. Taking a soothing sip of the caffeine, he handed a mug to Dawn. She took it without a word, and slowly sipped it while she regarded the look on her friend's face.

"So what's happening?" Caleb asked with a sigh, when she did not bother to speak.

"The investigation is still on-going. As you know, Miranda Baker spoke with the boys yesterday."

"I know."

"And now," Dawn said carefully. "A prosecutor wants to meet with you."

"Only me?" Even though Dawn had effectively shut the door on Jim being prosecuted, there was part of him that was still on edge about that happening.

"That's right."

"What does a prosecutor want?"

Having a prosecutor want to interview him was very bad. It communicated to him that CPS was serious about the claims they were making, and were intent on seeing them through. In order to achieve that, they had turned to the highest power in town to help them.

After the hell he had gone through in the past with his various trials for perceived crimes, he was quite sure he would be happy if he never saw another one of those people again. He did not have anything against prosecutors, but only the ones who seemed to push an agenda to see him pay for something he did not do.

"He wants to meet with you before the hearing."

That was news to him. "What hearing?"

Dawn's eyes softened in sympathy for him; it did nothing to make him feel better. "CPS feels like they have enough evidence to go before a judge to see if the judge would be willing to impose restrictions on you. If not restrictions, they're asking for you to be arrested."

Caleb felt sick as he listened to her words. In the back of his mind, he knew that was coming when the lady had seemed so intent on pushing the case forward. What made him feel slightly better was that the prosecution was not asking for the boys to be removed. What they wanted was bad, but not as bad as he originally believed.

Even with a small shred of relief flowing through him, the rational part of his mind nudged him to consider that if the hearing progressed in the favor of the prosecution, he would be at the mercy of a judge who may or may not choose in favor of the people going against him.

"What 'restrictions' will they be imposing?"

"After they processed the interviews they conducted with Sam and Dean, they made a recommendation in their report that if you are not charged at this hearing, that you not be allowed to see the boys without supervision. They feel like the bruise marks are enough to warrant this."

"What about Sam?"

"He has marks, too. Not serious ones, but ones that CPS photographed when they initially showed up at the school."

Swiping a hand through his eyes to stop the influx of tears from appearing at the amount of shock going through him, he numbly accepted the file Dawn slid across the table to him. He could not remember a time where Sam had been injured in a hunt before, but he was sure he would find out. Staring at the photographs of his arm, he could see red and purple marks that were already fading.

As he studied the pictures, he remembered the time when those had occurred. Unfortunately, that happened to be one of the few times where he had actually been guilty of grabbing one of the boys. What CPS did _not_ know, was that he and Sam had been in the middle of a heated training session when he taught Sam an advanced move that left a mark on his arm.

"I was doing a workout with Sammy. It got intense, and I was trying to teach him a move, and to do it I had to get physical. Not to hurt him, but to teach him."

Dawn nodded. "I can understand that."

"But will this prosecutor?"

Having her understanding and support meant a lot to him, but it was the prosecutor who would be the deciding factor for if his story could be believed or not. Looking back on that training session, he knew he could not have done anything different when he recognized how careful he was. At the time, it had not even crossed his mind that it could come back to haunt him months later.

"That's the question that will need to be answered."

"When is this hearing?"

"Tomorrow morning—the prosecutor wants to meet this afternoon."

"Do I do it?"

The thought of opening himself up to interrogation at their office was off-putting to him. The prosecutor would want answers from him, and his only hope was that he would be able to handle the questions and not get defensive like he had with the woman who came there.

"I don't think you have a choice," Dawn replied. "What you have to remember, is to keep a steady head through this meeting. You cannot give him a reason to believe what CPS is telling him."

"Alright."

Caleb was confident in his ability to withstand the pressure of talking with the man at the DA's office, but he knew that might very well change when he was sitting in a room with him. Once Dawn left after finishing their meeting, he tried not to think of the worst thing happening. With the way his luck seemed to be abandoning him, he held no compunctions that he would face retribution from the prosecution.

The only question he had was how bad it would be.

Would he be let off with leniency? Or would the judge take one look at the marks on Sam and Dean, and decide that he needed to be charged? Those questions ran through his mind on a loop while he waited for the boys to return from town. The meeting with the prosecutor was that afternoon, and he had no clue how he was supposed to prepare for it.

Dawn had given him a few hours to prepare. In that time, he knew he would have to come up with a convincing story for what happened with the marks. With Sam's arm, he felt comfortable admitting the truth to him. He was working out with Sam, and it got rough. There was no _intention_ of causing harm, and he prayed the prosecutor would acknowledge that.

Looking at the clock once the hours slipped by him, he sighed deeply as he prepared to do the very last thing he wanted. Getting in his car, he wondered how the investigation was proceeding. If fate happened to be on Jim's side, he would already be heading to the station to gather the last few facts. Turning onto the street, he hoped the meeting went okay with this prosecutor.

* * *

Striding into the prosecutor's spacious office, Caleb tried to let go of the claustrophobic feeling he got from the place. It was as much a result of his nerves as it was his fear of something happening. Taking a seat with Dawn, he he shot her a look before the door opened behind them to admit the prosecutor. The man was young, early to mid thirties. Even though everything about this man was meant to be welcoming, Caleb was not buying the act.

Standing up to shake his hand, he tried to think of this person as someone who was trying to help the boys. Anyone who had the boys' best interests in mind, was automatically someone Caleb tried to get along with. Realizing how hard it was for him to adapt the same feelings toward this prosecutor, he kept a sharp eye on his tongue and manners while he sat back down. Ignoring the warning look Dawn passed to him, he remembered her warning before they walked into the office.

If he said (or did) anything to garner the attention of the prosecutor, their case would already be decided. As it was, this man wanted to meet with him to give him the chance to explain his part of it. For that, Caleb found it hard to find fault with someone who was being fair about the whole procedure. Adjusting his stance in the chair, he fought to contain the nausea that was coursing through his system.

"Thank you for meeting with me," Shawn Williamson began.

"No problem," Caleb replied stiffly.

"I have a feeling," Shawn continued, writing something down in his papers. "That you know what this pertains to."

"I do."

How could he not when the case had been on the forefront of his mind since its inception? Being investigated (and possibly charged with a litany of crimes), had been the entire reason why he failed to get the sleep he needed the last several nights.

"Basically I want to hear _your_ side of this whole mess. I want you to, in essence, take me through all of these allegations and connect them for me so I have a way of ascertaining what needs to happen going forward."

"I don't know what to say," Caleb began. "I can tell you that I can explain the absences from school, and I can also fill in the gaps for those bruises on the boys."

Caleb's statement seemed to ignite something within the prosecutor. Searching his mind for the reason why that would be, he remembered Dawn telling him that this man had lost his daughter two years previously. Anyone who lost a child, would be bound to experience issues as a result of that. Sympathy raged within Caleb as he placed himself in the shoes of that man.

"Let's start with the bruises. How did Dean sustain the mark on his arm?"

To his credit, the man was not being accusatory, but rather conversational, as though they were discussing the evening news or the weather. As much as Caleb did not want to be there, he was willing to work with anyone who gave him respect.

"He was messing around with his friends, and fell on the ice."

Shawn nodded. "What were they doing?"

"Just being boys. They were playing some sport or another. I think it was hockey. Dean has a friend who plays hockey."

"Then he fell?"

"Yes."

Caleb watched while Shawn wrote something down in his papers. He longed to be able to understand what he was writing, and what his thoughts were on this meeting. Not being able to be in control of the meeting, was a very strange feeling for someone who was used to control.

"When did this happen? If you're not sure, just give me an estimation."

"I think it was around the first or second week of November."

That was right after Bill Harvelle died, and they went on the spirit hunt after returning home from Nebraska. At the time of the attack, Caleb thought nothing would happen after it. He treated Dean's arm like he knew he should have, and kept a close eye on it for the next few weeks. When his arm showed signs of improvement, he felt satisfied enough to send him back to school.

"Why was Dean not taken to a doctor when this happened?"

"Because I was not aware of this injury for a very long time. It was right before your office called that I finally saw it for myself. If I had been aware of it beforehand? That would have been different."

For the first time since he began the meeting with the prosecutor, he was aware of a tone in his voice that alerted him to the fact this man was starting to suspect something. Attempting to keep a level head through the rest of the conversation, he waited while Shawn wrote something else down.

"Okay, and what about Sam? When CPS came to his school, they also noticed a mark on his arm. This mark is actually very critical to the investigation. More so, if possible, than Dean's is. I want to show you what I notice right away."

Ignoring the erratic pounding of his heart while Shawn reached into his desk drawer for a file he assumed contained a photo of the picture he already saw, he exchanged looks with Dawn before he focused on the file. Reaching for it when Shawn slid it across his desk, he opened it to the first page and saw the photo. Sam's arm was spread over a table, and a crude light shone on it.

From appearances alone, it would look like someone had inflicted those bruises on him. While that was true, Caleb had no idea if he should be honest about it or not. Looking at Dawn for a silent meeting, he saw her discreetly nod her head in the affirmative.

"I can explain this-"

"What this is," Shawn interjected. "Is a hand mark on his bicep."

"I can see that," Caleb said, feeling sick. "I was working out with him-"

"Working out?"

"Both boys do various workout routines. I was training Sam, and it got intense. I grabbed him to show him a maneuver that can only be taught by demonstration. I was demonstrating it, and he ended up with the bruise."

"Did you stop to consider that maybe a workout that extreme may not be appropriate for someone that young?"

"It crossed my mind," Caleb admitted. "But I know these kids better than anyone, and I know what their limit is."

That explanation did not sit well with the prosecutor. Giving him a look that was unreadable to the hunter, he produced another document that he slid across to him. Opening it, he saw a statement from a man who he assumed was a doctor. Reading the notes the man carefully prepared, he tried not to feel the anger that was bursting to come forth.

According to the report, the marks should have been seen by a doctor. Caleb had heard that so many times it was starting to become infused in his mind. No matter what those people thought, he knew more than they ever would.

"The bruise marks on both boys," Shawn continued. "Are serious enough that they warranted the attention of Principal Woodward at their school. He believes they should have been accounted for. We consulted a doctor who works with different Family Services offices, and his determination is that Dean and Sam should have been looked at."

"I'm sorry," Caleb said, not knowing what else to say. "I screwed that up. My bad. It won't happen again-"

"The fact," Shawn said, talking over Caleb. "Is that we have had several of these instances. That alone is troubling, but then we have your criminal record-"

"We are not here to discuss anything that happened in the past," Dawn said, immediately jumping into the talk. "Please keep to the facts of _this_ case."

"Very well—based on past times, and the amount of absences that were documented, it is our contention that we have enough to go forward with our case."

This was what Caleb had been terrified of—the thought of being subjected to criminal prosecution for something that he did not even do. The thought of being labeled as a child abuser was nauseating to him and everyone who knew him.

"Those absences can be explained-"

"I believe you or one of the boys said they were sick? We need more proof other than a verbal say-so from you. If you cannot provide that, we count it as part of our evidence, and it will be used as part of our proceedings. Right now, the charges that will be pushed at this hearing tomorrow, will be two counts of first degree abuse of a child. And one count of child neglect."

* * *

The morning of the crucial hearing finally dawned. Caleb could not have felt sicker as he alternated between sitting on the bench outside the courtroom, and pacing the floor outside. After the long night he had of trying his best to get some sleep after the meeting with the prosecutor, he had gone into court with eyes that looked like they had seen better days, and a depleted spirit. It was horrifying to imagine that it all came down to this one hearing.

If a judge agreed with the stipulations CPS was proposing, he would either walk out of the courtroom a free man, or have to agree to supervised visits with the boys while the rest of the investigation went forward. As he rested his head in his hands, he could not imagine which alternative would be worse. If the judge thought he was dangerous enough to warrant a monitor witnessing their visits, he could only imagine how traumatic that would be for the boys.

The judge also had the option of sending him to jail while the case proceeded. In many ways, that would also be one of the worst outcomes he could dream of. There was no part of him that desired having a monitor watch him with the boys, but it would be preferable to sitting in a cell all day long.

It was the worst possible timing for this case to be happening—YED was still out there—and if the boys were compromised by having one less guardian around them, they would be vulnerable. Caleb knew enough about the demon to know that it would feed upon their weakness. Whatever game it was planning next, would be magnified.

The night before had gone about as well as he could have hoped. The boys came back from a long day investigating the case. According to the police file Dean passed to him the instant he walked in the door, their prime suspect was a young teenager who looked to be about a year older than Dean was. The boy had gotten into multiple scrapes with the law, and had recently been released from juvenile detention.

What made him their prime target was his suspicious appearance near every one of the crime scenes. The police did not have enough to arrest him, but were waiting on forensics. Forensics only meant so much to a hunter who was desperate to save the lives of innocent people. For that reason, Dean and Jim were planning a trip to his apartment complex the next night. The night of a full moon.

Standing up when someone announced that their case was being called, he tried to ignore the insane pounding of his heart as he walked in behind Dawn. As usual, his attorney was the epitome of calm as she took her place at the defense table. Caleb took his place beside her, inhaling a deep breath as he tried to project only positive images for the morning.

"Try to breathe," Dawn reminded him. "We got this."

Caleb nodded, not completely sure how possible it was to be that calm. "Thanks."

"This will not be that bad," Dawn whispered. "The judge wants to make sure the boys are not in any danger-"

"What if he thinks they are?"

"Then-"

They did not have the chance to talk further when the hearing started.

Sitting back in his seat, he watched as a representative for CPS got up first to present their case. Courtroom politics dictated that the state got to go first. Wishing that it was Dawn who could make the first impression, he settled for watching the man as he walked up to the podium. He wasted no time displaying the photographs of Sam and Dean's bruises for the judge to see.

Fighting to control his reaction was a pointless endeavor when it was their family who was being put on the line. The last thing the boys needed in their lives, was another upheaval.

"You can see," the man said, pacing dramatically. "There is a _consistent_ pattern of injuries. The only thing that changes, is the severity of them. One bruise looks alarmingly innocent, while the others only appear to get worse."

Caleb could understand what he was getting at. The abuse did not happen overnight, but over a steady period of time that was now being used to implicate him in this crime. Shaking his head in disbelief, he heeded the look of warning Dawn gave him and fell quiet.

After that, Dr. Almer, the doctor who examined the photographs, took the stand. He was a quiet man but seemed impassioned about the job he was in. Doing his best to listen to him, he wondered what his thoughts would be on these pictures.

"Is it your opinion," the man said. "That this bruise is consistent with being grabbed or punched?"

"Yes," Dr. Almer said, leaning forward to speak into the microphone.

Caleb could not filter the groan that came from him, as he shook his head in utter disbelief and fury.

"And is it your contention that a mark like that should have been seen by a doctor?"

"Yes."

"When you look at the bruising and discoloration of the bruises, what is your first reaction?"

"That the placement of the bruises indicates that the force had to be pretty powerful for it to make an impact like that."

"Those kinds of bruises can only be inflicted by a punch or a hit?"

"Correct."

After that, came the issue of absences. That in itself was not a huge issue, and so the man did not spend time going over the specifics, only that it indicated other factors. Especially Dean's behavior when he was in class, and how tired he had seemed to the teachers, which according to a psychologist they put on the stand, could be indicators of trauma.

Keeping a collected mind through the lies that were being sprung abut him, took an almost inhuman effort on his part. To him, there was no way that a judge could believe what they were saying, when only he could see the love he had for the boys.

Caleb was relieved when Dawn got _her_ chance to speak once he was done.

"In regards to the absences," she began, "I cannot attest for what happened four or five months ago, but the recent ones, the ones that counsel is making such a fuss about, are because, and this is included in the police report," she added. "Sam was taken from school on a field trip. Of _course_ it would be understandable that they would need a little break."

Dawn's words always managed to put Caleb at peace, and he tried to feel some of that now. With her fearless ability to command the attention of the courtroom, he hoped that would be enough to sway a judge to listen to what she was trying to say. The nervousness he felt was overpowering, but something he had no control over.

"And in regards to the marks on his arm: I never received any indication from speaking with Dean, or my client, or even my own experts that I spoke with privately, that this was anything serious. In fact, if I recall correctly, Mrs. Ward said that when she was speaking with Dean, she saw him move that arm quite effortlessly, and that certainly wouldn't be the case if it was as bad as the state was making it to be."

Caleb knew she had a point, but that wouldn't erase any abuse claims, just the ludicrous ones that claimed that his arm had been broken. He wasn't off the hook, far from it, as he tried to keep his breathing under control so he wouldn't lose it. His heart was hammering painfully in his chest, and he knew that it was a direct result of the fear that he had of losing the boys, of seeing them taken from him. He couldn't imagine anything worse for either the boys or him.

After her testimony was done, it was purely up to the discretion of the judge, after a few parting words from the CPS worker, who hammered it into the judge's mind that his past actions showed intent, that his criminal history showed probable cause that he was capable of abuse, and that the boys' welfare mattered above any shadow of a doubt.

"I have a certain leeway when it concerns what I can impose at this time," the judge started. "I can decide that it would be best if Mr. Rivers is remanded into custody with the evidence that we have. Or I can go another way, and impose supervised visitation until the case is resolved.

It is not my wish to be hasty with making any decision in this case. Certainly not one that could impact the life of the defendant before all the facts have been released. With that said, I feel that there is _enough_ evidence to terminate Mr. River's custodial rights. He will be allowed, however, to see the children with a court-appointed monitor present. He has until tonight to make appropriate arrangements for his living situation. If he (or the children) do not find an alternative by five 'o clock, than our court has the option of lawfully removing them until the conclusion of this case."

'Appropriate arrangements' meaning that he had a certain period of time to either get out of the house he had lived in for the past several years, or send the boys somewhere else. Or he could do something totally different, and elect not to follow any of their rules and lay low until the court case was behind him. Either option only presented a tidal pool of pain and confusion upon all of them.

Aware of what was at stake if he refused the order, he stood with Dawn and quietly left the courtroom. If nothing else, he wanted to be with the boys for what might be his last night with them before everything changed. If he did not follow the edict, he would be arrested and sent to lockup until the conclusion of the case. As it was, he had been lucky to avoid arrest at the hearing.

Wishing the judge had the facts to the case before he made a ruling like that, he followed Dawn.

* * *

 _Teaser for the foreseeable future of this story: Something happens to one of the Winchesters (and I include the guys when I say "Winchesters). This may or may not change their life **forever.** More legal problems for Caleb and maybe a demon problem? Beyond that, family and love that is the reason I wrote this verse in the first place. _


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

It did not seem real to Caleb that he had lost the case. A judge who heard all the same evidence he heard, sided with the people who had the power of taking the boys from them if they defied a single order given to them. The problem was that Caleb had no idea _how_ he and Jim were supposed to follow the order when they were stronger as a team. Jim could not be left vulnerable by himself, and Caleb could not envision separating from them.

Sitting in his seat as he tried to overcome the immediate shock of such a thing happening, he was dimly aware of Dawn standing to say something to the judge. Her argument was that the boys should be allowed to stay in their home until the proceedings were over; be allowed to stay with Caleb. The judge swiftly turned down her argument on the grounds that the pictures of the boy's arms proved intent and probable cause.

Supposing he should consider himself lucky that he was still being granted visitation rights, he rose from his chair and tried to gather his thoughts enough to move from the crowded courtroom into the cool air that slashed his face like a whip. Moving to his car, his entire body was numb while he tried to think about the implications of their family separating from each other. They could not; not when the demon was still after them.

One person against a whole army? That would never work. For that reason, Caleb immediately denied the notion that he would be forced to separate from the boys unless it was with a court-appointed monitor. No matter what consequences he would face from defying the court, he would not sacrifice the safety of the boys for anything.

Swallowing the baseball-sized lump in the back of his throat, he hurried to his car to get out of the cold. Dawn was walking behind him, but he barely noticed her appearance. His mind was going through all the potential repercussions from either obeying the order, or defying it. Either he would bend to what they wanted, or he would do something risky and avoid having to part with them.

Either option was not desirable in the least, and only presented them with more pain later on. His hands shook when he retrieved his keys from his pocket, and tried to unlock the car. Fury was the one other emotion that was on his mind as he sought to escape from the chatter in his mind.

If only those people knew.

If only they knew the horrific danger they would be putting the boys in if they allowed their family to be parted with each other. If only they had the slightest inkling what caused the marks on Dean, and the training session that ended with the bruise marks on Sam's arm. Marks that Caleb did not mean to cause. None of his explanations mattered when the office believed they had enough evidence to send the case forward.

Somehow he had to return home and inform his family of the ruling the court made. As if they did not have enough worry in their minds, they now had to contend with something like this happening. It was not fair, but there was nothing they could do now. An appeal was going to be made by Dawn, but would it happen in enough time to affect the ruling?

"I'm so sorry," Dawn said, catching up to him by his car.

"It's—it's not your fault."

Caleb would have loved nothing more than to place the blame on _her_ for not securing his victory for him, but he knew it was not her fault. How could it be when CPS was simply stronger in their argument? Especially with the evidence to back their claims up. Dawn was a powerful attorney, but the presence of CPS and the prosecutor, proved to be too much for even her to combat.

Dean and Sam were the two beings he thought about as he forced himself to talk with her and not give in to the pressing temptation to lose his sanity in the face of this happening. Even though the possibility had ran through his mind that he might end up losing, he never seriously entertained it until he heard the judge make the ruling.

"I thought we had it," Dawn said, shaking her head. "They can't prove where the marks came from, only that it was consistent with being hit or punched. It does not directly point to you."

"That's the way they think," Caleb said. "Why wouldn't they?"

He was the one who was in charge of their day-to-day life, along with Jim. Although his friend had been lucky to avoid prosecution for the same charges, he wondered how he would feel when he sat him down and told him about the decision in court. Caleb had been a daily fixture in their lives for the last ten years, and ending that was inconceivable to him.

"I know that I haven't seen you with the boys much, but I can tell you that you must be pretty amazing with them. I know a good parent when I see one, and you're definitely one of the good ones. This hearing does not change that fact, Caleb."

"I hope so," Caleb said. "Now? I have to tell them that I can't see them without some monitor supervising my every move with them. If I hug them? It will be judged. If I kiss them? Same thing. If I do anything with the boys from now on, it will be put under a microscope."

Caleb always viewed people who had to see their children under supervision with a look of pity. Until a judge made the same ruling only minutes before, he never thought something like that would happen to him. There had been no reason for anyone to suspect something as atrocious as abuse until the principal made the fateful call.

"The judge has some leeway when appointing a monitor. If you want, I can make a request for either Jim, Bobby, or myself to supervise the visits."

"That's be great. Thanks."

"If you want, I can go with you to tell them."

"That's okay; thank you."

He could not bear to imagine the thought that his time with them later that evening, would be the last he would spend with them as a family. He could not fathom having to go home and shatter the stability they had. More than that, he had no clue where he was supposed to go at such short notice.

"I'll file an appeal first thing."

"Will it be there in time for the judge to see before tonight?"

"No," Dawn replied softly. "You have to have the boys at CPS by five. It will take a day or so for the request to be approved, and then for the judge to see it."

"Okay," Caleb said, bowing his head as he squeezed the tears from his eyes. "Thank you."

"I'm sorry. Again."

"I appreciate it."

Hugging her goodbye, he climbed into his car and started the short drive home. Dean's birthday was in a few days—he would be sixteen and he would not even be there to help him celebrate it if the judge was serious about imposing this restriction on him. For the last decade, he had been there to spoil both boys on their special days and make it unforgettable for them.

For the first time since he gained custody of them, he would be unable to be there. It was the big things as much as it was the little things. Their bedtime routine that almost always ended in a pillow fight, would be no more. Their movie nights? That would be a thing of the past as long as he was not allowed to see them without supervision.

Five o' clock was only a few hours away. Too soon. Their hearing had not been called on time, and as a result, he and Dawn had to wait longer before their case was called. Now it was pushing three 'o clock, and the window of time he was allowed to enjoy with the boys, was rapidly dwindling.

Scrubbing a hand down his face when he turned into their street, he wrote a script in his mind of what he could say to lessen the blow of telling them something like that. Was there a guidebook for how to gently break the news that he no longer had custody of them? That CPS thought he was an abusive monster?

Pulling his car into the garage, he wished anyone but him could tackle the task of telling them. Both boys would have vastly different reactions to what was going to happen. Sam would react the strongest on the _outside_ , but it would be Dean who would have the toughest reaction on the inside. Swinging his keys on his finger, he hesitated before opening the door.

The house was silent when he walked in—it was not a surprise to him. The boys were either watching TV, or were resting. Striding into the living room, he noticed Dean lounging on the sofa. There was something on the TV that looked like an older cartoon.

"Hey," Caleb said, announcing his presence.

"Hey," Dean said, adjusting his position so Caleb could sit with him. "What's up?"

"A lot," Caleb said with a sigh. "Where's Sam?"

"He's upstairs," Dean grinned. "Trying to finish some volcano science project."

Caleb had never known a kid to be as obsessed with school as Sam was—each day he came home with a certificate for completing a task, or even helping someone. It was a wonderful outlet for him.

"Is that the one that was assigned last week?"

"Yep. Remember when I had to do that?" Dean asked, shaking his head.

"Um, yes," Caleb replied with a laugh. "I remember the giant mess in the kitchen."

"I remember the goop that was on the floor...and the walls."

It was hard for Caleb to forget the _many_ adventures he shared with the boys, and the various school projects they were assigned. The messiest ones always involved the science projects their teacher gave them. Like Dean correctly deduced, the volcano experiment had been the messiest, but also the most thrilling one for both of them.

"That's difficult to forget."

"So," Dean said, scooting closer to him. "Where were you today?"

"I had a court hearing with Dawn. It was pretty early, and it lasted up until tonight."

"You...did?" Dean replied slowly, his usually confident voice, wavering in doubt and uncertainty. "What happened?"

Caleb hated to look at the uncertain and scared look on Dean's face. It was a result of having everything go wrong for them. If it was not the YED, it was their friend dying. If it was not even that, it was now CPS starting the investigation into their lives. There was only so much one family could bear.

"The judge...he..."

"He _what_?" Dean demanded.

"He agreed with what CPS was saying. He took my rights to you and Sam, and he slapped me with supervised visits."

There was dead silence from Dean as he tried to process the bombshell Caleb dropped on his crowded shoulders. In the space of time it took for him to speak again, Sam appeared in the room. His bright eyes were alight with suspicion as he sat himself in-between Caleb and Dean. It did not take Sam long to take notice of the tears in Dean's eyes, and the blank look on Caleb's face.

"We have to go somewhere," Dean whispered. "We have to."

"Where's Jim?" Caleb asked, not willing to do anything without talking to him.

"He's working," Sam said. "What's going on?"

If telling Dean proved to be a challenge on its own, Caleb could not imagine what Sam would think of the latest development. Pulling him close, Caleb tried to tell him as gently as he could. Watching Sam's shoulders slump in defeat, it took all of the self-control the hunter possessed not to start crying with them.

"When do you have to leave us?" Sam asked, his resolve starting to falter.

"In about two hours...that's why I need to know where Jim is so we can discuss this."

"He's working out of town," Dean said. "Some deacon in another church had an emergency."

"Okay."

Caleb had no clue what he was supposed to do now that his friend was out of town. It made the burden of the decision rest on _his_ shoulders. Staring at the house he had grown to love in the small town of Steele County, he could not bring himself to think about leaving it. Their memories were there, both good and bad. It was where Sam learned to walk and talk. Where Dean learned to shoot, and where he started training with Caleb.

"I can't believe this," Dean said, watching Caleb as he tried to call Jim. "Why? Why us? Why do you have to go anywhere?"

"Because the judge believes everything CPS is feeding to them. It's crappy, and it's not fair. It's what we have, though."

It was laughable to him that he would be accused of abusing Sam and Dean, when he knew the truth, when the boys knew that he would never hit or punch them, and had certainly never denied them medical treatment when it was warranted. It was one of the many downfalls of the hunting part of their life, and how the authorities who couldn't understand, were now punishing him for something they had no clue about.

Unfortunately, it was the boys who ended up paying the price for their choice. Not him. Even though his heart was breaking at the idea of saying goodbye to them, of having to walk away when he had done nothing to deserve it.

"But you didn't," Sam argued, shaking his head, denying what Caleb and the courts were telling him. "You have never hit us or done _anything_ to hurt us."

"I know that," Caleb said patiently, winding an arm around both boys. "If only the judge thought about _your_ opinions."

"You shouldn't have to go anywhere," Dean said.

"Dean-"

"We can't be separated, Caleb. You know that. With Yellow-Eyes trying to find us, we can't be left vulnerable."

"So what choice do we have?" Caleb said. "We don't have one."

"Yeah, we do. We run. We get back to the safe house, and call Jim to go there from his meeting. That way, the police may not even know until it's too late. We can't be separated, Caleb. You know that."

* * *

Even though running went against everything that Caleb believed in, and what he felt comfortable with, he knew that he couldn't afford to do anything else. Dean was right, Yellow-Eyes was still out there, still waiting for the next opportunity to strike, and they could not afford for them to be separated from one another.

After calling Jim and arranging a time where they could meet up at the safe house, they left. Sam, while not entirely understanding the gravity of the situation at hand, thought it was a fun (but confusing) adventure, as they once again had to leave their home in Minnesota, for the relatively safer one in South Dakota.

Caleb's hands were taut around the steering wheel as he kept a habitual eye on the traffic behind him to look for cops. The time showed that it was just after five. He was not supposed to be seen with the boys after that time passed, and was instead supposed to be somewhere else. Taking a deep breath, he tried not to panic.

"How far?" Dean asked, reaching into the cupholder to grab the shared travel mug of coffee Caleb had.

"We just passed over into South Dakota. It should be another hour or two. Sam, how are you?"

"Good," Sam answered.

It had gone much longer this time around—instead of the leisurely, fun drive that they normally took to Sioux Falls, this time everything was different. The occupants in the car, except maybe for Sam, were on edge, terrified of the unthinkable happening.

"Alright," Dean said, taking a look himself to make sure they were not being followed. "Do you think we're okay?"

"I think so. Just stay cool."

The words had no sooner left his mouth than the sight of a police car coming up behind them, caught his attention. Any doubt that the car was meant for them, was quickly erased from Caleb's mind when the sirens went on. With that siren, his heart catapulted into his stomach.

Caleb knew he had a micro—second to make a choice. Either keep driving and risk a nasty ending, or stop and see what they wanted, even though there was no compunctions in his mind about what they wanted, and it made him want to throw up. When the cars showed no sign of stopping, he slowed his car down and began to pull off to the side of the road.

"Caleb," Dean said. "You didn't do anything."

"In their eyes I did. If we keep driving, this thing ends very badly, and I don't want you or Sam caught in the crossfire."

He meant that literally.

As he hugged the shoulder of the highway, he tried to stop the frantic pounding of his heart to make sure that his every action and look, showed nothing but his complete willingness to cooperate with them.

"Caleb," Sam said, grabbing his arm. "They can't take us. They can't-"

"They won't. Just don't say anything to them. Let me handle this, okay?"

It was obvious Dean didn't like that order, but he wisely didn't argue against it, either. He watched quietly as the officer signaled for Caleb to roll down his window, and tried hard not to glare his distrust at the uniformed officer standing there.

"Good afternoon," the officer said, peering into the car. "Can I see some license and registration?"

"Yes."

Caleb's hands shook as he handed the office his information. He had no idea what this officer thought of him. His expression was unreadable as he took the information back to his car to call it in. Glancing at the boys, he hoped this would be nothing but a routine traffic stop.

"What do you think is going to happen?" Sam asked.

"I don't know."

The unknown was making Caleb nervous as he watched the officer walk back toward the car after spending the last several minutes in his patrol car.

"Are you Caleb Rivers?"

He could lie, and say that he was not. Or he could avoid a catastrophe for the boys, and comply with what they wanted from him.

"Yes."

"I need you to step out of the car."

That was what he had been afraid of—the idea of the police catching him during his dash to the safe house. No longer did he have the option of hiding in the safe house. Dean's face drained of all color when he took in the startling words from the police officer.

"Caleb-"

"Dean," Caleb said, looking back at him as he started to get out. "Just stay here, okay? Stay with Sammy."

Dean was clearly torn, but he eventually nodded his consent. "Okay."

"Thank you."

Feeling slightly better now that he knew that Dean would listen and obey what he was telling him, he got out of the car to talk to the officer, as they went to stand behind the car. Caleb was acutely aware of Dean leaning around in his seat, observing everything that was going on.

"We have a situation," the officer said, not bothering to beat around the bush. "There's a court order that states that you had to surrender custody to the CPS offices, an _hour_ ago."

Caleb nodded; he had suspected this would be the problem. "Yes," he said, bowing his head briefly before looking up at the officer. "It was a mistake-"

"It becomes a problem, because we have an order from a judge in a court of law saying that you had to hand over physical custody of Sam and Dean Winchester to the CPS offices. When there's a failure to present them, and then we catch you traveling outside of Minnesota, and across state lines, it becomes a felony."

"A...what?" Caleb stammered, struggling to understand what this officer was saying. He had expected to hear a lot from this man, but that was the last thing he had expected to hear, as he tried to keep himself calm and not fly off the handle until he had all the facts.

"When there's an order," the officer repeated, "saying that you no longer had custody and had to give it up, and then you fail to arrive with them at CPS, and then we catch you outside of the state, it becomes an issue of kidnapping."

Caleb never expected that he would be facing a kidnapping charge if he took the boys. "You have to be kidding me."

The officer shook his head. "I'm not. This is serious."

And it certainly would prove to be catastrophic for him in his attempts to regain custody of them. Feeling tears of pure panic and fear come to his eyes, he hastily wiped them away, as he tried to find a way out of this situation, and came up blank.

"It was a mistake," Caleb said. "I was trying to spend some more time with them. It was _never_ my intention to create more problems."

"Well, regardless," the officer said. "The law is clearly defined where it concerns this kind of thing, and this is considered kidnapping."

"I'm sorry-"

"I don't have a choice," the officer said. "Turn around and put your hands behind your back."

This was what Caleb had been afraid of from the start. If he made the choice to run, he would run the risk of being caught and jailed for something he did not even do. His heart slammed erratically in his ribcage as he forced himself to think about the consequences of his actions.

"No," Caleb said. "Not here. Please, don't do this here. I don't want them to see that," he said, looking over again at the boys. Dean was still keenly observing everything that he could see from his limited view, and Caleb knew it would completely shatter him to see him be put in handcuffs.

"Let's walk behind my car."

Supposing he should be grateful the office was granting him that one mercy, he walked with him behind his squad car. When the officer instructed him to turn and place his hands behind his back, he did not resist. Wincing when the smooth metal of the cuffs fastened around one wrist, and then the other, he fought to control his reaction while the officer read him his rights. If nothing else, he knew they would be with Bobby and Jim.

* * *

 _ **Teaser:** Next chapter is :O_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Something was wrong. Dean could feel it as he sat in the front seat of the car, and tried to see what was happening with the cops and Caleb. It seemed like hours ago that he came home and informed them that he lost custody of them.

More sickening to Dean was the edict the judge handed down that said his guardian could only enjoy supervised visitation with them. As if he was an unstable person who needed to be monitored while he was with them. The entire situation made _zero_ sense to him.

Instead of facing the music of whatever the courts wanted them to do, they ran. There was no way Dean felt comfortable separating from Caleb when the YED was still a threat. With that thought racing through their minds, they made the fateful choice to run to the safe house. Risky, yes, but absolutely necessary.

More than the obvious danger of separating, Dean could not imagine having to watch his guardian suffer for something he did not do. When the cop car pulled them over, there was part of him that was tempted to urge Caleb to keep going. So what if they faced a confrontation with them later? All that mattered to Dean was that they be together.

But instead of staying on the highway, Caleb made the choice to tempt fate. Watching his hands tremble on the steering wheel while he spoke with the officer, Dean could tell just _how_ nervous Caleb was. Offering him stilted words of comfort, they fell on deaf ears when the officer returned and asked him to get out of the car.

That command was when Dean could feel his heart splinter in his chest as he watched his guardian follow the instructions of the officer. Reluctantly obeying his order to stay in the car, Dean tried to see what was happening. It had been awhile since he got out. In that time, more police cars had shown up.

Something was _very_ wrong.

Looking behind him as though he expected to find Caleb, he saw nothing but the same stretch of blacktop. South Dakota was still a ways ahead of them, but Dean recognized where the route was taking them.

Sighing as he watched the sun start to slip behind the trees, he wondered what was happening. Caleb would never take this long without checking on them. Now that Dean thought about it, he could not see him at all.

"Something's wrong," Dean said, leaning forward in his seat.

"What do you mean?" Sam voiced from the backseat.

"I haven't seen Caleb since the cop took him behind his car. That was _awhile_ ago."

His mind had naturally traveled to the dark place where perhaps something happened to his guardian. Not willing to be a party to that way of thinking, he removed it from his mind. Caleb was smart; he knew how to talk with people and charm them into believing nothing was wrong.

If his worst fears came to fruition, Dean did not know what he would do. They would be safe with Bobby or Jim, but Dean knew how vital Caleb was to their protection. As a whole, they were unbeatable. A fierce tornado in a blustering storm.

"Maybe they're just talking," Sam offered.

"For this long? It has to be something else."

Sam fell silent for a minute. "Do you think they know Caleb was supposed to obey the court?"

Dean nodded. "Yes."

That was the entire reason for his fear. Law enforcement would have to have knowledge Caleb directly defied the court order when he failed to present proof he left the house. With that troubling fact in mind, Dean wondered how they would react.

Certainly law enforcement would not let something like this go without a problem. It was what made Dean as terrified as he was about what may be happening to his guardian. Looking out the window, he tensed when he spotted an officer walking toward them.

"Is Caleb coming?" Sam asked hopefully.

"No. An officer is."

"Maybe he knows where Caleb is," Sam said, doing his best to reassure his brother.

Somehow Dean doubted that was the reason a police officer was walking toward them. Caleb was not with him; Dean could only assume it meant something bad. Not sure what more he could take, he listened to the command to step out of the car.

The officer was friendly, and seemed to be doing his best to make the two boys feel comfortable. Dean could understand the attempt to make the alleged victims feel more secure, but all he wanted was to know his family was okay. Standing close to Sam, he tried to keep a level head.

The police were there to enforce the law. A law Caleb broke when he willingly did not comply with the court order. Switching his focus to the officer, he saw him turn his head to radio something to his colleague.

"Where's Caleb?" Dean asked.

"I'm taking you two boys back to the station until we can reach Child Services," the officer explained, not answering the question.

"But _where_ is Caleb?" Sam pressed.

The officer hesitated as though he knew that revealing that information, would only lead to upset. "He's been arrested."

Dean had suspected that would be his answer all along when he refused to directly answer the question. It took an inhuman effort to control his emotions. There was no way he wanted to cry when he needed to stay focused.

Sam, on the other hand, held no such concerns and cried softly as soon as the officer delivered that painful announcement. Feeling numb, Dean shook his head and clasped Sam's hand.

"Why did you arrest him?" Sam choked.

"For kidnapping. He defied a court order, and committed what we call parental kidnapping."

"But-"

"We have to go. Right now," the officer implored.

There was no way Dean had any intention of going anywhere with the police officer. Especially when he did not know of he and Sam would be separated, or if they would bother to call Jim. Understanding how limited his options were, he tightened his grip on Sam's hand, to do what he did not know.

"No!" Dean yelled.

Fleeing from the police officer before he could do anything to stop them, Dean jumped over the guardrail and slid down the embankment toward the wooded section of town. The woods was immense, but had the shelter Dean craved.

He had no clue what he was doing as he navigated through the ever approaching darkness to reach a place to rest. His chest heaved with exhaustion and strain, making him slow down to better assess where they were. He had never been in a woods like this, and it scared him.

Each shadow that was painted across the trees, could have been an animal or something else. The wind tickled his neck, the branches snapped under his feet as he did his best to stay ahead of the police. There was no doubt they would be closely pursuing them.

The coldness was what he could not help but focus on as he dropped to his knees, and dug through the backpack he had for some clothes. Before they left, he thought to prepare provisions for himself and his family if the worst happened. Now that it had, he was glad he thought to do it.

Finding a light gray sweatshirt that had their school name on it, he forced it over the clothes he already had on. Digging deeper into the pack, he found an identical shirt for Sam. Tossing it to his frozen brother, he fought to contain the fractured emotions he had.

They were alone in an unfamiliar woods during one of the coldest January nights. The cold did not bother him as much as the thought of being ambushed by something. Standing up, he brushed the dirt from himself, and took Sam's hand.

"Dean, can we _slow down_?" Sam panted, trying to keep up with the pace his brother was making.

He had been going at a decent speed ever since entering the woods. Every sound was a potential threat to them. Even a snap from a twig, was enough for him to keep pushing on. The tuckered plea from Sam, was enough for him to finally stop and find a concealed place under a few trees.

It was not the safest shelter when the trees opened to a deeper section of the woods, but it was the best he could come up with. Sliding to the ground, he took a look around. There was nothing there but endless trees and shrubbery. Winding his arms around Sam to keep him warm, he thought about spending the night in the woods.

They had nothing except for the clothes on their backs, and a few snacks in Dean's bag. Hoping to conserve as much as he could, he tore one and off a candy bar and offered it to Sam. Normally the adults would have never let them have candy so late, but Dean needed his energy.

"We can rest for a little while. Maybe until morning."

"What about the animals?" Sam whispered, casting a pointed look at a rabbit that was munching thoughtlessly on a carrot.

Dean shrugged. "Most of them are probably harmless. Anyway, I have my gun in case anything happens."

Sam swallowed hard. "You'd shoot Bambi?"

"If I had to."

Giving Sam a look that told him he would only resort to that if necessary, he gazed up at the full moon. It was bright, and cast somewhat of a peaceful shadow over the entire forest. Suppressing the urge to shiver, he tried not to let Sam see how much the day affected him.

It had started well, and ended in the way it did. Part of him held the belief that he was suspended in a dream of some kind. Any second he would wake up and discover that it was just another surreal nightmare. Leaning against the tree, he closed his eyes and tried to claim some rest.

His throat was dry, but he did not have anything to hydrate himself with. Ignoring the uncomfortable sensation, he soon felt Sam search the backpack on his lap, before his brother covered him with a thin blanket.

Giving him a drowsy smile of gratitude, he spread the blanket further so that it enveloped Sam, as well. If nothing else, at least they were together and not apart. Turning a different angle, he fought to stay awake around the desirable need to fall asleep.

Dean had no idea how long he was asleep. What woke him was not the end of another dream, but the terrifying growl of a monster. Twisting around in his place when he heard the beast, he did not have the chance to respond before the werewolf attacked from behind. Dragging him several feet from his place, the teeth dug into his shoulder.

Aiming punch after punch at the wolf, he only increased its prey drive. Arching his body as much as it would go, he knew that if he did not get away, the wolf would kill him. The sound of running footsteps crashed through the forest, alerting the wolf.

Taking that moment to reach for his gun that was pumped with silver bullets, he aimed at the wolf who still had his shoulder in its slobbery mouth. Covering one ear with his hand, he aimed at the wolf. The beast, however, had other ideas, and swiped his gun from his hand.

Bleeding, and with eyes that were watering with pain, he dragged his body along the ground while the wolf continued to maul him. Once he reached the weapon, he stretched his hand as far as it would go. His fingers barely touched the tip of the gun, but it was enough for Dean to take the gun.

Using every last bit of energy he had, he turned and shot the wolf in the heart. The wolf went down without a further problem, but the beast was not the thing he was focusing on now that he was free from its deadly mouth.

He had been bitten (mauled, really), by a werewolf. He was fortunate enough to survive the attack, but now had the sobering reality that he was one of them. In the blink of an eye, he had been snatched by the wolf, and was now paying the price for that. Shaking uncontrollably, he stood and tried to find his way back. That was easier said than done when his mind was in a treacherous tailspin.

"Dean!"

He could definitely hear Sam moving toward him-faster now that he could probably see his brother. Stumbling toward him, he held his hand over the gaping wound in his shoulder. The last thing he wanted was to scare his brother right off the bat. Forcing a careless look on his face when Sam broke through the shrubbery, he noticed the way Sam's eyes instantly zoomed to his shoulder. Removing his hand when Sam raised his eyebrows, he did so carefully. Blood poured from the wound, but masked the seriousness of the bite.

"Sam-"

"You were...you were _bitten_?"

Dean could not comprehend the answer he was about to give his brother. He had been raised for the last ten years of his life to hate the supernatural he hunted. Now he was about to become one of them? His entire body was filled with warring emotions that battled for dominance with each other. Rage being the one he recognized without missing a beat.

"Yeah, Sam."

* * *

The process was familiar to Caleb by now-even though he hoped he would never have to see the inside of another jail again. The police took him to their county jail for the night until he could be extradited back to Minnesota for the official start of proceedings. A series of new mugshots were taken, and fingerprints were gathered to replace old ones. All of his personal information was gathered, and the one thing he was allowed to keep was his wedding ring. All of that was taken into account when they ushered him to a holding cell for the night.

According to the arresting officer, he was most likely going to face the penalty of parental kidnapping for his conduct that night. Not an offense as serious as kidnapping, but still a charge that carried the weight of a decade in prison at worst, and two years at best. The evidence was right there in front of any jury who would potentially take the case once the proper procedures had been dealt with. His actions had been done with the purest intentions, but now he could not help but second-guess his actions.

Thinking of it like that almost had him feeling sorry for Dawn as he was escorted to a meeting with her the next morning. His attorney already had her work cutout for her while she tried to restore his custodial rights. Having an added kidnapping charge tacked onto his rap sheet, would not help her at all. Walking into the conference room where they always conducted their meetings while he was behind bars, he saw the look of incredulity on her face.

"What the _hell_ were you thinking?" Dawn demanded.

"I wasn't," he said, staring down at his cuffed hands. "I really wasn't."

"Well, now they're charging you with kidnapping. You know that, right?"

"I got a little suspicious when the officer who slapped the cuffs on me, told me that," he said dryly. "Isn't kidnapping supposed to involve holding people against their will?"

At the time, he could remember a massive wave of shock slamming into him with the force of a hurricane. He never once considered the possibility of being accused of kidnapping when he made the choice he did. His attorney shook her head as she tried to think of something that would soften the blow.

"In some cases," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. "And in other cases, it's called parental kidnapping, where you defy an agreement or custody arrangement, and that's basically what you just did."

He sighed, shaking his head. "I didn't mean for this to explode like it did-"

"We have an arraignment coming up in a few days."

"Will I get bail?"

"It's possible. The judge only hesitates where it concerns murder or something of the like, but with kidnapping and other charges like that, it's iffy."

"Will I get it or not?"

"I...I wouldn't be surprised if the answer is no."

He nodded. "Alright."

"You'll plead not guilty to all five of the charges against you."

"Right. What happens if I get it?"

"You'll be allowed out while whatever proceedings take place."

"What about the boys?"

"I'll do my best to get your friend temporary custody of them, at least until you're in a position within the judge's eyes, to get your rights back."

"Okay."

"There's something else," she hedged, avoiding his probing gaze.

"What?"

"I got a call from CPS this morning. The officer that was about to take the boys, said that Dean completely lost it when he told him that you had been arrested, and he grabbed Sam and ran into the forest. They've been looking," she said, catching the horrified look on Caleb's face, "but they haven't—they haven't found them yet."

"Dawn, you _have_ to find them."

The idea of them being alone and vulnerable while YED was still out there, was devastating for him. Even more so when he was harshly reminded of the fact that he couldn't search for them. He was stuck in a cell again, now with the knowledge from Dawn that the boys were missing.

"We're doing everything we can," Dawn promised. "They've been looking all night, but they either keep moving, or have hidden themselves."

If anyone knew the delicate art of concealing themselves (and others), it would be Dean. He had learned everything he knew from Caleb, and that included tracking and hiding himself from unwanted enemies. It didn't surprise him that Dean had reacted the way he had, he just hoped that Bobby, or even the police, were able to find them and bring them to safety.


End file.
